


I'd Take Care of You

by SandfireKat



Category: The Good Doctor (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, But this is gonna be pretty sad I'm not gonna lie, Death, Drama, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Hospice Care, Hurt/Comfort, Sadness, TW Suicide mention, This whole thing isn't going to be sad I promise, emotional stress, tw child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-10 12:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 59,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13501668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandfireKat/pseuds/SandfireKat
Summary: '...if you'd ask me to.'Shaun hadn't wanted to do it. He hadn't wanted to give up-- because that's what it was. It was disguised as something else, but Shaun wasn't fooled, and he tried to get Glassman to reconsider. But his efforts had been useless. Just like everything else was. Just like everything else would continue to be, from that point on. He hadn't wanted to do it, but when it was clear he had no choice, he committed to his new role, and he pledged to take care of him. To help him. He owed him that much, so he did so without hesitation.He promised himself that he wouldn't make the same mistake he had with Steve. That he would keep Glassman here. That he would make sure he stayed.But maybe even that was useless, too.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first The Good Doctor fic done on my own accord, without any requests or prompts. I poured as much of myself as I possibly could into it. I've been going through a very difficult time recently, and I've found that this story has managed to help me just a little bit with everything that's going on. It's not a happy story. But it's one that's important to me, and maybe could be important to a few other people as well. I tried to do it as much justice as I possibly could. Though, as I always say, whether it be typos, or any other kind of flaw, I am always willing to fix something.
> 
> Today, I was woken up at seven in the morning with news that my aunt, who has been on hospice care for weeks now, was dying. I spent all day with her, and it leaves me to posting this at two in the morning. I don't know how much longer I have with her. Whatever the number, I wish it was more. I wrote this in dedication to her, even though I know she won't be able to read the entire thing.  
> I love you, Aunt Jojo.

Claire had given him her number, and told him to call if he needed anything at all. He could call her for advice, for a consult, whatever was needed. But she'd also made a point to tell him he could call her even if he didn't have a question. She'd let him know that he could call her if he just needed her in general. If he needed someone to talk to, or someone to console him, she would always have her phone in her pocket with the ringer on. She wouldn't let two rings go by before she would answer him. She'd told him he could call if he needed someone to be with him in a time that nobody really saw coming. During a time he didn't deserve to go through alone.

Tons of other people did the same exact thing. All for their own reasons, of course. Melendez had already given Shaun his phone number long ago, for the employee-boss connection that was needed for emergencies. In the days leading up to this, however, he had reminded Shaun that he had his information, and he could contact him if he needed assistance or clarification on something. He'd told his resident that he could also call in sick, and that he could call in sick now as many days as he wanted with no repercussions. Claire could tell that his first impulse of words ("For as many days as it takes") almost slipped out of his mouth instead. But thankfully he had caught himself at the last minute, and he had made the amend.

Shaun had called in sick every day this week, so far.

Jared had offered him his number as well, but purely for distraction purposes. "If you want someone to talk to at three in the morning about the latest hockey game, I'm your man," he'd said. He knew that Shaun wouldn't need anyone's help in this— not for the medical knowledge it would take. Because, unfortunately, it would take very little. So explicitly, he had said this. He'd been trying to make a joke, and lighten things up, almost. But Shaun's sorrowful look, which had been firmly set on his face for ages now, had not changed at all. He'd taken the number with just as much silence and subtle misery as he'd taken all the others.

Doctor Andrews even gave Shaun his information. In a move absolutely nobody saw coming. And when it did happen, the gesture was eyed with open skepticism, and a bit of harsh judgement. Such a gambit was almost repulsive to watch— him handing the young man the small Post-It. But the way he had looked at the resident, and the earnest remorse contained in the small murmur of "I'm so sorry" seemed too real to call into question. In other words, it seemed genuine enough to make anyone too guilty to do such a thing. Claire, at least, was inclined to give him a pass, and trust his intentions. Now really wasn't the time for politics.

She had given him her number along with practically everyone else at the hospital. Even Carly had extended her help; specifically, she wanted to cook a few dinners and bring them over the two of them, to help lessen Shaun's plate by one measly thing. But just like everyone else at the hospital, Claire did not receive a single call or text, unless it was first initiated by her. Which might be good, in a way. Maybe he didn't call because there simply wasn't a need to. Maybe he saw the numbers as something to use only in an emergency, and there just hadn't been a situation yet that called for it. Maybe his lack of correspondence just meant there was nothing to talk about, or note. Maybe the outlook was better than it had been anticipated to be. Maybe things weren't as bad as everyone had been told.

Or maybe it just meant the opposite. Maybe it just meant that things were horrible, and Shaun was suffering with him, but he just didn't want to let anybody become wise to the fact. He was proud person at it was; maybe he refused to call anyone because this was something he thought he had to handle by himself. Despite the frequent times he had been expressly told the exact opposite. Or maybe he didn't call because he didn't want these last couple of days to be stolen from him, by letting someone else in. Or he thought that the effort would be worthless, because the same end result would still be looming dark around the corner. Maybe his silence just meant that he didn't see a way out of this, and he just didn't want to get someone else lost right along with him.

Maybe it just meant he was drowning.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Shaun had rejected it. The very second the option had been brought up – no, even before it was finished being proposed in the first place – he was refusing. Adamantly. "No." Usually he was soft-spoken and calm. It was just the way he held himself. But instantly, starting from this first word, his voice had come out hard and flat. His eyes had narrowed, and he'd shaken his head, something close to anger swarming over his face. "No. No, we're not doing that," he'd said. "No."

"Shaun…" Glassman's voice had come out in nothing more than a slow exhale. Shaun had refused to look at him; whether that was out of anger, or something else, he probably hadn't even known himself. The younger man had waited, though, keeping his mouth shut tight. He'd waited in apparent distress, and when Glassman had gone on, he'd only grown more tense as the emotion grew. "I want to do it." The five words had dropped like rocks in Shaun's stomach. His lips had pressed even tighter together. His eyes had started to well with a mixture of harrowing sadness and frustration. It had been impossible to tell which feeling was more prominent. "It's gotten to that point, now. It's…it's time, Shaun."

"No!" Again, he'd shaken his head. Still looking away, he'd continued. "There's other options. There's other things we can do. I can…speak to Doctor Melendez, he can—"

"Shaun." As soft as it was, the single word had stopped him in his tracks. "Look at me." He hadn't wanted to. But he'd known he couldn't possibly refuse him, and so the young man had turned, reluctantly, to meet the other's stare. Glassman had offered him a bracing smile when he'd seen the tears building in his eyes. "It's fine," he consoled. "Okay?" Shaun had said nothing. He'd just stared at him, silently begging him to reconsider. "This is what I want. There's nothing else that can be done. You and I both know that. And that's saying quite a lot, isn't it?" The backhanded praise had been added as something of a joke. A weak light had sparked almost mischievously in his eyes as he'd cracked a grin. But it all crumbled when he turned his head to the side, falling into a small coughing fit.

Shaun had stiffened with alarm, and he'd taken a tiny step closer to the man's bedside. But Glassman had raised a hand to tell him it wasn't needed. Once the fit passed and he could draw in air somewhat normally again, he had winced and turned back. "This is something we've both seen coming," he rasped. "And I don't want to be stuck here until…" Shaun had looked away again. There hadn't been any hiding from the unspoken ending, though. "I want to go home, Shaun…" The request had been so simple and so earnest. It had made it ten times as sorrowful. "I want to be home. Not here."

Shaun had been silent for ages. Until, in quiet desperation, he had attempted: "You won't get better at home. You can get better, here. We can help you, here."

Glassman had waited until Shaun had had no choice but to look back at him. His expression had held nothing but pure sorrow and regret and disappointment. So bottomless that you could drown in it, if you weren't careful enough. And, after both of them had taken the moment to digest Shaun's words, Glassman had kept the sorrowful smile on his face, and whispered quietly: "I'm not going to get any better, Shaun."

And that led them to here. After the undeniable truth – however much Shaun wished he could deny it – had been said, there was no taking it back. It had been an elephant in the room for ages; it had been there for every hospital visit, every coughing fit, every rasping inhale, every fatigued day. It had just gotten worse and worse, the hospital stays had gotten longer and longer, and the elephant had gotten bigger and bigger, until finally there was no looking around it, or just pretending it was a part of the décor of the room. Now it wasn't able to be passed off as anything else other than what it was: a death sentence. A horrible crushing weight on the lungs, which left Glassman weak and unable to breathe freely on his own. That left him unable to even walk more than ten feet at a time.

Shaun tilted his head to the side, calculating the hours quickly. "Your last dosage of morphine was five hours and forty-seven minutes ago," he announced over his shoulder. "In thirty minutes, I can give you your next one." He had to talk a little bit louder than he usually did; this was just one of the many things he'd learned, and one of the many habits he had adopted. Glassman was hard of hearing with the flow of oxygen thorough the cannula. But Shaun had been told once or twice before – mostly by Jared – that he was loud enough all on his own, so there may or may not have been a learning curve; it depended on who you asked.

He surveyed all the other medications. To keep organized, and to do so in a way that he was more than well-versed in, Shaun had taken it upon himself to tape sheets of paper up on the wall. Each was labelled with medication that was needed to be given on a set schedule, listing when the last dosage of each was down to the second, and how much had been given. It wasn't so much for him as it was for the hospice nurse that was sent in every so often. Which was something he had tried to tell them wasn't needed, since he was staying here at Glassman's side anyway, and Melendez had given him the green light to take as much time as he needed. But for some reason, they were firm on sending someone in anyway. At least like this, there wasn't any question on what had been given when. There wasn't any fighting or bickering.

"And…another Tramadol," he added, talking just to talk by this point. His eyes flickered over each sheet, taking them all in. "And you need to take another Lorazepam in twenty minutes." He made a face, becoming sidetracked now as he tried to figure out how that one had fallen behind the others, and why they weren't all the same. They should be the same. If it wasn't all the same, then there was risk for skipping one, or missing a dosage. If they missed a dosage, then—

"I believe at this point we've ironed out the schedule, Shaun," Glassman interrupted, shattering Shaun's thought process. Shaun turned away from the wall and looked back at the other. His bed had been switched out for a hospital one, and he was currently underneath about three different blankets. The bed was risen so that he was propped up into a sitting position, and when Shaun looked back at him, he shot the younger man a teasing look. The smile was a little worn, and tired. He usually looked tired, nowadays. "How about you just let me know if something changes, and then that'll make some news."

"Okay." Shaun walked back and took a seat in the chair he had pulled up to the man's bedside. Next to him, on the bedside table, was a tinier piece of paper Shaun had folded and arranged so it was sitting beside the digital clock. In neat handwriting, it announced: 'Today is January 16, 2018.' He looked back to the television, and after a heartbeat, Glassman did too. They were about their seventh episode into their Wheel of Fortune marathon. They were keeping track of how much money they would each win as they played along, should they have been on the show themselves. Glassman had managed to rake in $105,000 so far. It paled in comparison to the heap Shaun was currently at, which was $217,000. Also in Shaun's cart was a trip to Peru, and a trip to Paris. All Glassman had earned was a car. Shaun had said he'd rather have the car.

The category had changed from what it was when Shaun had stood to the check the medicine. Now it was 'Book Title', and Shaun quickly started to try and narrow it down from the letters that were already there, moving to grab the notebook and pen again, so they could keep on competing. Shaun had been meticulously writing down every number and doing the math, up to now. But when he turned and started to reach out, Glassman spoke. It was nothing more than a small whisper, but Shaun froze at once, and turned to him. "You should go to work, Shaun," he breathed, and Shaun only blinked. "You shouldn't be here all day…you could do more good there, than here."

"I want to be here," Shaun said, and he started to reach for the paper again, as if that was all it took to put the topic to rest. So when Glassman went on, his voice just the tiniest bit harder, Shaun stilled. Though he kept his eyes down, rather than looking up to meet his stare, this time.

"No, you don't," Glassman rejected, and Shaun's lips pressed down into a firmer line. "Nobody wants to be here— the nurse that visits me doesn't even want to be here; if it wasn't for her paycheck, she'd run out screaming." It was probably supposed to come across as a joke. But hidden in the words – deep down in them – was the smallest sense of resentment. It was the tiniest thing, but it permeated his speech and made it impossible to trust that whatever he was saying was supposed to be the truth. Shaun's grip on the notebook tightened as the words played at the tip of his tongue – 'You wanted to be here; you wanted to be here, that's why we're here in the first place and not at Saint Bonaventure' – but he kept them to himself. Glassman might have been able to read them on his face, if he had been paying more attention. "You want to be…saving lives, not watching mine…" He sighed, but it wasn't as deep a sigh as the statement warranted. There was a long pause in which neither said anything, before Glassman just shook his head. "You should go back to work," he repeated. "And learn. And— and do something productive. You should go make a difference. It's what I hired you to do."

He kept his eyes averted. He fumbled for something to say, and eventually managed: "Claire and Jared are there to help. And Doctor Melendez said that I could miss as many days as I wanted. He said that he wouldn't hold any absences against me."

"That's not the point, Shaun," Glassman pressed. His voice strained on the final few syllables, and he had to stop and suffer through another coughing fit. The severity caused Shaun to lean a little closer out of worry. But Glassman waved him off and after a few more body-wracking hacks, he had come back to himself. "That's not the point," he croaked again, ignoring the anxiety on the younger's face. "You shouldn't be here with me every day; that's not what I meant to happen when I asked for this. I'm supposed to be here, not you. This is just for me. It's been three days, and that's just three days you haven't been at work, saving the lives of people who need you."

He looked at Shaun with something close to despair. There was likely a much deeper ache underneath what was actually getting through. He was trying to keep everything under wraps, but even Shaun was able to sense the deep pit of sorrow that was there. Shaun found he couldn't hold such a stare, and he looked away, to the glass of water on the table adjacent to him. "I'm not going to get better, Shaun, I'm just going to get worse," he rasped. "So I don't need you here like they'll need you. Because there's nothing that can be done, for me." Shaun's chest felt like someone was carving a pattern into it with a dull knife. He could hardly breathe against it. He felt his eyes begin to burn. If Glassman noticed, it didn't waver him in his decision. He just sucked in a slow and wheezing inhale and continued. "You can come back after work, if you want, Shaun," he tried. "But you shouldn't spend all day here. You shouldn't waste your time on me."

Shaun said nothing. He kept his eyes on the glass of water, his hands wringing tightly in his lap.

. . . .

"Why am I here?"

The question was asked softly. Shaun kept his eyes on the glass of water that had been placed down in front of him. Also in front of him was a plate of food, which was just as untouched as the water was. By now, condensation was forming and slowly dripping down the sides. He had been watching it intently for the past five minutes— he would take anything, at this point. Glassman must have registered this, because he hadn't tried to break the quiet. He was leaving it up to Shaun. So it was Shaun who interjected. Quietly, yes. And he didn't look away from the water. But he asked his question all the same.

Glassman looked up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. Maybe it was because for the last three days, Shaun had said maybe a handful of words. And none of what he had said had been as pertinent as this was. It was so direct, he almost choked on the bite of food in his mouth. He had to stop and swallow before he could reply. He looked at the young boy and gathered himself as best he could before he gave an answer. "You didn't want to go home," he reminded gently. "Not that…not that you had any reason to want to go home, Shaun, I don't blame you for that." He leaned forward a little bit in his chair. "But we need to figure out where to go from here. And until we do figure it out…I'm more than happy to have you stay here. I don't mind."

Shaun didn't lift his gaze. He watched the way the light bent and shone through the water. He'd reached out before, to trace his finger lightly down the side of the glass. Now, he was watching that line slowly fog back over. "Why?" he asked.

Glassman wilted at the question. He looked fleetingly at his plate and he set his fork down with a small clatter. Shaun's eyes flickered to him at the sharp sound, but it was gone before the older man could really even register it. "Well…because…" He was blanking. Shaun shifted and looked away with a trace of uneasiness. Seeing this, Aaron rushed to amend the mistake. "Because I don't think anyone deserves to feel alone," he managed eventually. Shaun looked up at this, but not directly to him. "If there's a way I can make sure that you don't feel alone, Shaun, then…I'll try and do it. If that's alright."

Shaun said nothing.

Glassman leaned to the side just a little bit, to try and catch the young boy's stare. He couldn't quite accomplish it, but that was alright. "Is that okay, Shaun?" The past three days, and it hadn't been asked outright yet, oddly enough. Maybe he was too busy with everything else, to stop and think about that. When really, it should have been the first thing that should have been addressed. When Shaun still stayed quiet, Glassman hedged forward just a bit more, gently prodding for a response. "Do you want to stay here?" he asked.

. . . .

Shaun was silent. He studied the glass of water, not even blinking. Glassman let him think, knowing by now that there wasn't a point in trying to interrupt him. He just waited, knowing it would come. And eventually, it did. The young doctor turned back to him, and the vacant and faraway look in his eyes cleared like fog under the sun. He looked back at Glassman, and he met his eyes head-on. "I…don't think anyone deserves to feel alone," he said slowly. The expression that came over Glassman's face in response was too painful to look at. Shaun turned back to the side. "If…there's a way I can make sure that you don't feel alone, then I'll try and do it. If that's alright." He hesitated. Before he stated simply: "I want to stay here. With you."

Glassman stared at him. His eyes began to mist over. He tried to speak, but his throat was too clogged to manage it. All he could get across was a tiny nod. Shaun mimicked it, just as certainly. And without another word, they both turned to the TV once more, Shaun sinking back into his chair and pulling up the notebook again to keep track of their marathon.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Shaun leaned over and dished his card out. It was an eight, and so he looked back at the hand he still had and announced: "I want to change it to hearts." For the past thirty minutes, all he'd had to put down was hearts, practically. He couldn't manage to get rid of his last card, and neither had Glassman, so they were just going around and around in circles. Shaun didn't mind it, really. Crazy Eights was a game he could use half of his attention for; the other half of his focus could be used to monitor every little thing he could about Glassman's state. He was worried. Today wasn't as good as the day before.

At the switch, Glassman lifted his free hand in something of exasperation; his voice – as ragged as it was – came out reproachful. "Shaun, this is the third time you've changed it to hearts," he pointed out. And though it came with that sharp edge, when Shaun looked to meet his gaze, he saw that Glassman's eyes were unimaginably soft. They were the kind of soft that Shaun always used to tell that he was proud, or happy, even if he was saying something snide. He used to not be as good as he was now at picking up social cues like that, or on sarcasm. But somehow with Glassman, it had always been a little easier to tell. If only by a tiny fraction. "I think you're just doing it to annoy me, at this point."

"No," Shaun objected, looking back down again. "I have too many hearts."

"Hm. I don't believe you."

Shaun made a face, and before Glassman had the chance to tell him not to, he'd twisted his wrist to show him the seven red cards he was holding. Glassman looked at them only briefly before he closed his eyes and let his head fall backwards a little bit. "Shaun, you don't show me—" He broke off, losing his words to another harsh coughing fit. It was his third one this hour, and Shaun frowned, watching him with growing anxiety. He quickly recalled the oxygen level they'd been on; they'd been on thirteen for the past day and a half. Which wasn't good. Their aim was to get lower, to reduce the risk of carbon dioxide poisoning, and Shaun was trying to push for that. But it was difficult to make a case for such, when the alternative to the higher level was to hear him wheeze for air, and cough like he was now.

Glassman had refused to agree to turn it down.

Which meant it didn't even matter what Shaun had to say.

The young man weakened, and he turned to the bedside table. He put his cards away, abandoning the game. He reached for the glass of water and stood to hover over him, waiting with his arms a little extended. When Glassman was finished hacking, he grimaced and reached for the cup to take a drink. Glassman's voice was gravelly and rasping when he finally managed to stop, and as Shaun reached to take the cup again, he mumbled a tiny apology. "I'm sorry."

Shaun's eyebrows drew together. "Why?"

Glassman blinked, and he looked up at him in a little bit of confusion. Confusion over why Shaun would ask, or what his answer would even be? He started to open his mouth when the two were interrupted by a harsh ringing sound. Shaun turned to look behind him, and Glassman's eyes flickered in the same direction. It was the doorbell. Shaun frowned and he glanced at Glassman quickly before he dropped the topic at hand. "I'll be back," he pledged. Glassman nodded and took in a little bit of a sharper breath. He just watched Shaun turn and head out of the bedroom.

He stepped gingerly around the tubing that was trailing itself over the floor, making sure not to step on it and obstruct the continuous flow of oxygen. The track led to the large oxygen concentrator they'd arranged down the hall, far enough away from Glassman's room so that the loud hum it made couldn't be heard as much, but close enough so that there was still slack on the tubing to move around. Not that he did move around, though. Out of habit, Shaun stopped short as he passed the machine and made sure that the levels of each tube were the same, and even with the other. It was even yes, just not where it was supposed to be.

The high number still made him a little concerned, and he hesitated for a moment longer, just staring. As if simply looking at it would do any good.

But whoever was at the door started to knock, when he didn't come right away. They started him back into motion, and he turned and went quickly down the stairs. Once he hit the landing, he veered for the front door, and he opened it. Out of another newly-learned habit, he was expecting the hospice nurse, even though she wasn't supposed to be here until later. So when he opened the door to see Claire and Jared instead, he was a little startled.

They were both smiling, but Claire's smile seemed bigger. Or maybe it was just more nervous. When he didn't immediately speak, she took the job upon herself. "Hey, Shaun," she chirped. "I hope…I hope you don't mind us coming by! We wanted to ask if you needed any help. You haven't really answered any of the texts we sent, so we were kind of worried…" He frowned and looked down, retrieving his phone from his pocket. Sure enough, there were five unread texts. "So we figured that we could stop by, you know? We…brought dinner. If you wanted some? It's okay if you don't, or if you already ate?"

Shaun looked up with just as much bewilderment to see that it was getting darker outside. He hadn't even noticed that, either. He'd already gotten something to eat for Aaron; he'd made soup before they'd started playing Crazy Eights. He hadn't even stopped to think of finding food for himself— he wasn't even sure if there was anything else left; he was fairly certain he had to go to the store, and he just hadn't gotten around to it yet. Jared was holding a box of pizza from someplace Shaun had never heard of. Claire shifted and brought out a six pack of soda from behind her back. "It's not much. But we figured we could come by anyway, just in case…"

He debated, saying nothing. For a long heartbeat, he only looked at them. The two waited, a little tense. But eventually he shifted his feet and gave a tiny nod. "Okay," he relented. The pair smiled wider, and he stepped to the side to allow them both entry. He shut the door behind them and led them to the dining room where they could put down their load. He was about to excuse himself to go and tell Glassman who had been at the door, and to ask if it was alright if he was gone for just a moment to cram something down for dinner. Certainly it would only be about five minutes.

But as soon as he started to leave, Claire had stopped him, and she'd asked, a little softly, if they could come with him, so they could see Glassman too. He wasn't sure why they would want to. Shaun didn't want to see him like this himself, and he was with him every day. It wasn't even just that it was sad. It was just that it was almost impossible to, and keep yourself composed at the same time. This was supposed to be the point of hospice: to provide the patient and the family with a few more days of actual life, rather than the sterility of the hospital. But Shaun had rejected it, or tried to, and he had done so for a reason. He didn't understand it. It wasn't right. It was just drawing out the pain of losing someone, rather than experiencing it in one fell swoop. It was just watching them wither away. It was just making it harder, and longer.

The thoughts rushed through his mind all at once, so quickly it was a miracle he was able to register each one. But there was no way he couldn't. Just like there wasn't a way he could reject their wish to come along. So he turned and led the way back up to Glassman's bedroom, and he went in first, a small frown on his face. "Doctor Glassman, Claire and Jared wanted to know if they could see you," he announced. Glassman had been reshuffling their card deck as best he could. His hands shook now, and it made fine motor skills difficult. So he looked up in a bit of surprise when Shaun said this. It looked like he'd just been trying to sign the both of them over to another half hour of this same card game.

He hadn't had visitors yet; he probably just wasn't expecting them.

"Oh," he rasped. He shifted, as if to sit up in his bed a little straighter. "Sure, go ahead."

Shaun looked over his shoulder, and his two friends filed in once the permission was granted. They were both still smiling, when they came in, even when they saw him. The months of in and out hospital stays and failing health had made him skinnier and weaker. His hand was wracked in tremors as he moved to set the cards aside and come back to them later. Shaun let Claire take the seat he usually had, and he moved to perch on the edge of Glassman's bed instead— his secondary perch. Jared stayed nearer to the door, crossing his arms over his chest. Claire was the first to speak up; the smile on her face was softer than it had been downstairs. Shaun noticed the fact, and he quickly tried to abandon. "How are you doing?" she asked.

That's a stupid question. Look where they were.

"Oh, I'm alright," Glassman sighed. Claire leaned forward a little just in the effort to hear him. He talked so low; his voice seemed to drag itself out of his throat, and scrape against it in the process. "I've been feeling better than I have in a while." She melted with relief. "It's nice to be back home. And it's nice to have company." He looked at Shaun as he said this, who only perked a little bit. "Even though I told him he should go back to work and stop fussing over me." He laughed, and it sounded fragile. "It's not like it does much good."

"Oh, I'm sure he's just worried," Claire was quick to murmur. She shot Shaun a sympathetic look, and Shaun wasn't sure whether or not he appreciated it. "I think it's sweet. And I don't think I would ever complain about having someone run around and do things for me," she added, a little more mischievously. "I say take advantage of it. You could get a little bell to ring for him."

Glassman laughed again. This time it was punctured and accompanied with a few hacking coughs. Claire wilted as he had to turn to the side and stifle it as best he could. Once it passed, he shook his head, one eye closed in a bit of a wince. And he offered her a smile. "I don't think Shaun would react too well to that," he chuckled. "He barely listens to me as it is. I feel like adding a bell into the mix would just encourage him."

"You and Melendez could hop into that same boat and sail into the sunset," Jared drawled. "I'm sure if he was here, he'd be telling you to shut up, nudging him back into work." Claire shot him a look, and he laughed, shaking his head. "No, we miss you, Shaun. Not enough for you to come back, I mean…but it's weird not to have you buzzing around." Shaun wasn't sure what to say to that, since he wasn't sure what 'buzzing around' meant. Was that a good thing, or a bad thing? Jared was already looking away, though. "Melendez told us to tell you hello," he announced. "He couldn't come himself, but he told us he wanted a full run-down in the morning."

"Oh, he doesn't have to bother…" Glassman rasped, looking down and fiddling with his blankets. "I'm sure he has something better to do."

Claire's face fell. Shaun looked up from his lap, and he turned to search Glassman's face, his own pulling down into a frown. Neither Claire, nor Jared seemed to know what to say in reply. Shaun didn't know either, but he knew something he could say instead. The clock on the bedside table was easily read from where he was sitting. "You need another breathing treatment," he informed him. "Your last one was more than four hours ago." These weren't as scheduled as the medicine was. But given how much more he was coughing today, and given how his voice was weaker and more prone to breaking, a couple more frequent ones were warranted. They couldn't do any harm.

Glassman looked at him, and his eyes flashed. "I don't have to do it now, Shaun, I can wait," he murmured.

"Actually, we brought food," Claire interjected, seeing that Shaun was already opening his mouth and not exactly sure she wanted to let him push and shove. It was better to mediate a fight before it happened rather than putting a stop to it during. "We could go downstairs, it's all sitting there. And Shaun, you could…?" She trailed off, feeling a little stupid. She didn't know how to finish her question. He had to come and eat, and having a little break to be with friends would probably do him a world of good, anyway. But if he wanted to be here to help Glassman, she couldn't tear him away. She wouldn't have the heart to.

Glassman looked Shaun up and down, his expression falling. "Shaun, have you eaten yet?" he asked.

"No," he admitted. "I forgot."

"What did you have for lunch?" Glassman asked. Claire and Jared both watched Shaun as he fell into a confused silence. His forehead creased, and they could practically see him wracking his brain for something to say. He hadn't eaten lunch, either, in his rush to cover everything else. This morning he'd had a piece of toast and that was it; he hadn't even been aware of the emptiness in his stomach before this very second. His hunger had had yet to catch up with the rest of him. Glassman seemed to grasp this, because his face was left to swamp in an emotion akin to guilt. "Shaun…go eat dinner with them," he said quietly. "I'll do the breathing treatment myself; it's okay."

"N— I can help," Shaun objected. "You don't have to—"

"I won't have to do anything," Glassman interrupted. He was still just as quiet, but Shaun clammed up the second he started to speak. He pressed his lips together tightly, though he looked like he still wanted to argue. "I can reach it all from here and it only takes a couple of minutes." He coughed in the back of his throat, and he shook his head. "Go eat, Shaun. Please," he attempted. Claire found she wasn't able to look at him anymore, for the remorse that was in his eyes. "You haven't had anything to eat all day. I'll text you if I need you."

Shaun hesitated. Like always, he had more arguing left in him, and it looked as though he was dangerously close to carrying on anyway. Jared was starting to edge out just in case, and do something to try and help. Though he had no idea what he thought he would do. Thankfully, he didn't have to come up with anything, because Shaun eventually nodded and sidled off the bed. He stood up and clasped his hands together and walked out the room. It was a little abrupt, and rushed. Glassman watched him go until he rounded the doorway and disappeared from view. Claire and Jared both rushed after him, promising to come back once they were done eating.

Coming out into the hall, it looked like Shaun was already gone. Like he was in a rush to get down to the food just so he could get done sooner and hurry back. They started after, walking the way they'd come, and the pair exchanged a nervous and heartbroken look. "You think he's doing okay with this?" Jared whispered, just in case he was closer than they thought he was. "I mean…you know, it's hard on anyone, to do this. He's doing it all alone. I offered to maybe…switch off sometimes with him, to give him a break every other night, maybe. Or I just offered to come by every once and a while just for a few hours. But he didn't reply to either of those texts. And he doesn't answer his phone, either."

Claire looked ahead mournfully. "Maybe he feels like it's something he has to do on his own," she mumbled. "He's a pretty proud person, when it gets down to it. This is even harder to face…it looks like it's been fine so far, but…"

"But it's only going to get worse," Jared finished for her, grimly. "It'll get a lot worse, and it'll get worse fast."

"Yeah," she exhaled. Her eyes darkened. But her voice was bracing when she spoke again. "And we'll be there when it does. The only thing we can do is offer him support. He can do all of the technical things himself— he can administer the medicine and oversee the treatments and manage the oxygen…but that's only half of it. And that's the easier half. The other half is just…getting through it. And that's the part he'll need help with."

She sighed, her chest constricting as she remembered how kind Glassman had always been to her. Of the time he had sat with her when she'd lost her first patient, and how he'd helped her see that she needed to talk to someone about it to be able to move on. She still hadn't moved on from it entirely— she'd stopped obsessing over it and letting it impede her work, but she still thought about the woman from time to time, and she still told herself that there was more she could have done to save her. That there was no turning back time, and she would never be able to get the chance to right her wrong.

There was a very good chance Shaun might feel exactly the same way, once this was all over. The only difference between her and him, was that she had had Glassman there to help her realize how she could cope. Shaun would not, and that itself would be the problem.

She shook her head. "We'll all need help with that part. But Shaun will need the help the most, and we have to give it to him. Maybe even whether he wants it or not."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The moment he got the text alert, he was snapping awake. Every night had the same ritual. He would make sure that his ringer was turned up to the highest volume possible, and he would plug his headphones in so that there was no way he would possibly miss anything. He fell asleep like that, his fingers closed around his device just in case all else failed and the only thing left to wake him up would be the vibrations. But he covered all his bases. So the very second that his phone went off, the blaring notification was grabbing him by the shirt collar and yanking him out of whatever dream he was in the thick of.

Shaun's eyes flew open when he heard the ring, much too loud in his ears, and he felt the tail-end of the buzz leaving his fingers when his head jerked off of the pillow. He was groggy and sluggish, and he immediately yanked his headphones out of his ears just to make sure they wouldn't get assaulted with yet another screech. He quickly looked down at his phone and noted the time first, realizing it was 3:53 in the morning. He sat up in such a rush his head spun. He had only gotten to bed a few short hours ago. But his exhaustion was burned away and replaced with apprehension when he saw the message he'd received.

Doctor Glassman had texted him; it was only a couple of words long.

'Shaun, could you come here?'

What did he need? What had gone wrong? Had he missed a dosage of medicine? Were the oxygen levels too high? Of course the oxygen levels were too high, he had told him that! He had been trying to get him to understand, Glassman just hadn't wanted to listen! There was such a thing as too much oxygen, they both knew that, Glassman had just been stubborn! Was he hurt, was he in pain, why at 3:53 in the morning? Shaun fumbled the covers off of him and he turned to get just as clumsily off of the bed. He wasn't used to one that was actually off the ground, and he stumbled a little before he could get his balance back. As it was, clumsiness was increased tenfold when it was this early in the morning and you were shoved awake like he'd been.

But Shaun still rushed back to Glassman's room. He had taken a spare bedroom not too far down the hall from him. He couldn't hear anything out of the ordinary, getting back. He could hear the oxygen concentrator – you couldn't not, it was its own megaphone – so he knew that the machine hadn't given out. He was trying to list everything that could possibly be wrong, and he was quite gifted at making those lists. And when he let himself into Glassman's bedroom, he peered through the dark and tried to see if any of his assumptions were right. But upon first glance, everything was completely fine.

The TV had been switched on, but the volume was turned down low. It bathed the room in a hazy, bluish kind of light. Glassman was where he always was, lying in bed. His eyes went to the young man as he came in, and he looked completely normal. Like he did whenever Shaun had gone into his office, when he was still fit to work at Saint Bonaventure.

He could recall his voice, mumbled and halfway cheerful. 'Gone fishing. Office is closed.'

Shaun reached up to rub the fuzziness from his eyes that was still remaining after sleep, and he started in. He was slower now, and cautiously beginning to relax. "You texted me," he proclaimed, as if Glassman wouldn't be wise to the fact. But he wasn't speaking, so Shaun was just going to have to do the honors, here. "Is there something you need?" He had only been in here a couple hours ago. They'd stayed up late watching a television show that Shaun hadn't really paid much attention to. He had only stayed up to watch it because he knew Glassman would like the company. He couldn't recall a single piece of the plot.

"Yeah," Glassman sighed. His voice was a little lower than normal. Shaun didn't know if that was because he had just woken up, or if there was some other reason. Nevertheless, the young man got closer, just so he could hear clearly. Glassman's eyes flickered to the door, and he started to push himself up a little bit more, with some difficulty. "I'm sorry I woke you up, Shaun," he rasped, and Shaun reflexively began to open his mouth and reassure him that it was fine. It didn't matter: losing just a little bit of sleep. In the grand scheme of things, it really, really did not matter. But Glassman was rushing through the rest of it before Shaun had the chance, so the younger just shut his mouth and decided maybe his reassurance wouldn't matter, either. Not to Glassman. Not right now.

"I need you to help me up," Glassman requested softly, and Shaun's shoulders immediately sagged.

He only had one thought run through the back of his mind in response to the request, and it was: 'Oh.' He should have thought of that. In the panic of being jarred awake so early without warning, it had gone right over his head. At least it wasn't anything bad, like he had first thought. That was a relief, at least. But all the same, the request caused Shaun to become a little on-edge. Like it always did. He took in a slow breath, and he looked a little bit off to the side, not exactly able to meet his gaze. "I…could just—"

"No." The refusal came before Shaun could even finish, and the young man cringed.

"It…would be much easier," he tried, his voice noticeably weaker. "It wouldn't be as much of a strain for you as—"

"If I can make it to the bathroom still, then I will, Shaun." His voice was harder, now, and it just made Shaun turn away even more. His stomach churned, and he opened his mouth to try and fight more. The hospital had given them everything they would need for this, and that included a commode. It was easier to use that, rather than go all the way down the hall near the stairs. Even if some would categorize the walk as short, it was still too much for Glassman, and the fact was perfectly plain to Shaun. Maybe it was plain to Glassman as well, and he just refused to look at it. But it wasn't helping him, when he insisted to make these trips. In comparison to just moving something over and having a simple transition.

He grimaced, trying to make him understand. "You could fall, and—"

"Shaun." The young man flinched again at how altered his voice came out to be. It was harder on the surface, but just underneath, it was anything but. He snuck a glance back at Glassman, and sure enough, he saw that his expression was slowly becoming more and more unstable. His eyebrows were drawn together, and his hands were clenched a little tighter in his blankets. He seemed to be searching for something to say that would suffice, or help. When he spoke, his voice came out a little more fragmented. "Can you help me?"

. . . .

The room was silent. He preferred it that way, really. He didn't mind it, at least. Especially now, when he was reading. He absolutely hated it when he was trying to read, and people were talking, or laughing, or yelling. People in his classes did that all the time— talk when there was work to be done, or goof off instead of actually doing it. So this was nice. In a way. Shaun was sitting at the dining room table, finding solace in the quiet. The young boy's hands were clasped in his lap, and he was bent low over one of the books he had wriggled off of one of Doctor Glassman's shelves. It was about something new— something he'd never seen before in such detail. Diagrams and maps of the human muscular system. Piece by piece, it was laid out, and each individual muscle was listed and indicated, along with its function.

There was a lot. It was fascinating.

He was so engrossed at looking at all of them, that he didn't hear the footsteps coming into the room before it was too late. It was Glassman's voice that roused him. "What are you reading, Shaun?" The child jumped nearly out of his skin at the unexpected interruption. He jerked, and his eyes widened as his nails dug into the skin of his palms. He stiffened, and his eyes went briefly to Glassman before they ducked straight back down. "Oh, I'm— I'm sorry." Glassman rushed to apologize. He seemed immediately remorseful over the visceral and violent reaction. He came in much slower after the brief show of fright. "I didn't mean to…well, I guess I shouldn't have snuck up on you like that," he murmured.

Shaun said nothing, and he didn't look back up. Glassman came a little closer, and he peered down at the text Shaun was reading. He tilted his head to the side, and his next words caused the boy to stiffen even more. "Is that one of my old textbooks?" he asked. A smile started to twitch at the edges of his lips. "That was the very first book I bought when I was in college," he recalled, looking at the Anatomy and Physiology book. "That was for the introductory course…I remember it like it was yesterday." He flashed a look at Shaun and attempted to tease: "Of course, when I was attending college, dinosaurs were still roaming the earth. I rode a T-Rex into class every day."

Shaun didn't react to the joke at all. In fact, he reached out and pushed the book away just the tiniest bit. "I'm sorry," he fumbled, and Glassman frowned. He didn't look at him, though. He just clasped his hands tighter, and wrung them more nervously. "I didn't mean to take it," he whispered. The words seemed to shake and tense with unease.

Glassman looked over him warily, a sense of sorrow coming to life behind his eyes. "No, Shaun, it's…" He frowned. But he quickly took in a breath and shook his head, coming forward and grabbing the book so he could slide it back in front of him. Shaun watched in silence, not raising his head. "You can look at it, if you want, Shaun; I haven't even opened this thing in years; it's probably covered in dust." Shaun blinked. Though he was still rigid, his eyes began to flicker over the pages and the words, again.

Glassman stared a him a moment more, before he looked back at the diagrams and remarked with a little bit more warmth: "I remember staying up late every night in my dorm, putting these all to memory. Back then, I thought that was hard enough— I had no idea what was waiting for me later on down the road." Shaun's eyes flickered up, but not to Glassman. It was just a sign he was listening, though. Glassman went on. "I used to…make up funny little sayings, to remember where each muscle was, and what they did. "Levator scapulae; that one's pretty self-explanatory…because it 'levitates' the shoulder. But some of them were more of a stretch. Like…you use the triceps when you 'try' to extend your elbow."

At this, Shaun lightened just the smallest bit. His eyes drew over to the arm on the body, to where the triceps were signaled out. The corner of his lip twitched up, in the tiniest hint of a smile. Glassman was acutely aware of this, simply because it was the first sign of anything close to a grin he had received up until now. He smiled as well, and added: "Or…your mandible is your jaw, because in a 'man' it's usually more defined…I wasn't the smartest student when I first started out." He titled his head to the side. "Or I just did it because it was funnier than just memorizing them point-blank. Medical students don't really have as much luxury when it comes to entertainment, just between you and me, Shaun." He whispered this like it was secret. Like it was something only they were allowed to know.

Shaun said nothing. But his smile grew. Glassman's did as well. For a heartbeat they stood in silence, a slightly more comfortable one than they were used to. But eventually Glassman seemed to realize he should leave Shaun to his own devices, like he preferred. So he turned and started to head back the way he'd come. Only then did Shaun turn and actually look over after him, his gaze lingering. Glassman froze immediately when he gave a tiny: "Wait."

The one word was plagued with just as much hesitation and nervousness as he'd spoken with, before. Glassman turned with a small frown. Once he did, Shaun ducked away again. His shoulders curled inward, and they went a bit stiffer. But after a second, he looked back down at the book, and he reached over to trace his finger over one of the larger subheadings. He shifted a little bit in his seat. He didn't know how to ask, because he never had before. He'd learned not to ask for help from his father. It had been taught in eyerolls, or frustrated scoffs, or the regret that would be left to fester underneath his skin after it all ended in another harsh scolding.

So when the words fell out of his mouth, they fell out slowly, and weakly. Almost like he didn't want to let them out, himself. Because he almost didn't. But all the same, he managed it after a moment. "Can you…help me?" He didn't dare look at Glassman, for fear of seeing that irritation, or that obvious frustration. His stomach was in knots as he just waited, staring a hole through the book as he barely even breathed. Glassman didn't help, with the long pause that followed.

The pause lengthened, and already Shaun was deflating in disappointment and remorse, for having asked in the first place. He stared to open his mouth and apologize again. When Glassman turned and walked back over. Shaun tensed as the older man pulled up a chair and shifted over just a little bit to have them be closer together. The older man glanced at him and waited for him to speak, but he stayed mute. He looked back at the book, shifting it over so that it was in between them. "Sure, Shaun." His voice was soft when he said this. It was unexpected. Shaun was almost slapped across the face by the turn of events. "I can help you with anything. What do you need?"

The child's mouth was dry. He stayed silent for a longer stretch of time. Before he took in a tiny breath and mumbled: "Can you help me learn these?" He fidgeted. He turned away again, but Glassman was listening with a patient expression. "Did you…have any more tricks?"

Glassman was quiet. Eventually Shaun caved and turned to look at him. And he realized the older man was smiling at him with a sudden expression of fondness. It was a look that didn't immediately cause him to duck back away. Instead, he just waited for the reply, his heart a little bit in his throat. But Glassman's voice came out as soft as his expression was. "Oh, yeah, yeah I have tons. And some of them even make logical sense," he reassured teasingly. Shaun brightened, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

For some reason this made the other's smile grow even more, and he reached out to indicate one of the facial muscles. Shaun settled more down into the chair, the apprehension melting off of him now that he could pay attention to something else. And, surprisingly comfortably and with unexpected ease, Shaun listened as Glassman started from the top. "So…this is the masseter," he murmured, signaling out one of the muscles of the cheek. "Its prime function is to chew, so it aides in mastication— that's why it's got its name, you can remember it by the similarity…"

. . . .

Shaun closed his eyes, and he took in a slow breath that dragged on its way down. He told himself to stay calm. He told himself it didn't matter— even though it absolutely did. He told himself he wasn't in charge— even though he thought he absolutely should be. He was stiff, and he was burning over with the effort of holding his tongue. It was all bottled on the tip of it, and he had to choke it back, like it was bile. He opened his eyes, and exhaled. "Okay," he murmured, shaking his head and blinking as he turned to glance over his shoulder, to the hallway. "Okay," he repeated, to make his surrender all the clearer.

Glassman's expression was unreadable. It was fine, though, because Shaun didn't want to know. He just stepped forward until he was at his side, and he leaned down to begin to help him up. He let Glassman grab onto his hands, and he pulled slowly and carefully to help him sit up. All the while listening with a heavy heart and a pinched expression as already Glassman began to lose his breath and wheeze. The smallest of exertions was enough to suck all the air out of him, and already this was taking its toll. Still, Shaun held himself back. His eyes narrowed, and he locked his jaw, but that was it. He'd learned not to fight, now.

Once Glassman was sitting up, Shaun could turn and sling his arm over his shoulders. He could brace himself and stand up, keeping a grip around Glassman and straightening slowly so they were both upright. With his help, Glassman was able to stand, and as Shaun started to talk baby-steps for the door, as long as Shaun went slowly enough, he was able to shuffle alongside. They started for the hall, and from there they would tackle the trek to the bathroom. To anyone else, it would only take about seven strides. To them, it would be a success if it would take less than seven minutes.

Shaun wouldn't win the argument of keeping Glassman in bed. The only thing he could do now was just make sure that he didn't fall or stumble. That, and listen to Glassman's inhales become more pinched, and weak. His exhales growing shakier, and thinner. He listened to his lungs struggle to handle the minimal activity, and Shaun struggled against the pain it inflicted to hear. And the fact that the sound of it was enough to make his own lungs burn and ache.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was one in the morning, and they were still awake. Scratch that. Shaun was only half-awake. He'd passed that point about two hours ago, with everything he was handling at once, and by now it was far too tempting to just flop down and close his eyes and fall unconscious in the blink of an eye. The only reason he was awake right now was the same reason he was doing everything he was doing lately: because of Glassman. But if Shaun was only half-awake, Glassman was only one-quarter awake. Sometimes when Shaun looked over at him he could have sworn he was asleep, but the second he started to shift off the end of the mattress, the older man's eyes would open again, and Shaun would freeze.

Shaun knew it was better for Glassman to sleep. But he had voiced the thought once before, and he had regretted it. He was learning to keep thoughts like that to himself, even though they were right. Even though they would help. Because that was what this whole thing was: it was just giving up. It didn't matter that sleep would help, or not forcing the trek to the bathroom would help. Because they had given up long ago. They had given up when they had signed the forms, and they had given up when Shaun had stood by and watched mournfully as they switched out Glassman's bed with a hospital one.

Or, Glassman had given up, anyway.

Shaun hadn't been given the luxury of making a choice. He was just being dragged down along with him.

They were watching a movie— Glassman had been flipping through the channels and apparently there had been a film coming on that was one of his favorites. It hadn't started for another hour, so they had had to wait for that. And then Shaun had come to realize that whatever this movie was, it was the longest piece of cinema he had ever been forced to witness in his life. He wasn't even paying attention to the plot, he was so fixated on trying to keep track of Glassman's breathing. It was second nature. If someone put a gun against his head and asked what the movie was about, all he'd be able to offer was that it was about prison. Unsurprisingly, it wasn't his cup of tea.

In the effort to see the television better, and to be able to hear Glassman clearer too, Shaun had moved to sit on the end of his bed. His legs were pulled up to his chest, and his head was resting on his knees; he was leaning so that his back was flush to the wall. He was so far behind on what was happening there simply wasn't any hope left of catching up for the rest of the movie. Two characters were fighting now – or were they just talking? – and he didn't even know either of their names.

His eyes flickering over to Glassman, he weakened when he saw that his eyes were closed again. He was sleeping, but Shaun knew the tiniest muscle movement would snap him awake, and the very instant Shaun began to ask whether or not he should turn it off, Glassman would force himself to sit up a bit more, and he would say that same spiel he had said already about five times. "No, no, it's fine. We can still keep watching it. I'm paying attention." Even though he was paying just as much attention as Shaun was. The young man wilted at the thought, and his eyes flickered to Glassman's chest. He had to study it hard in order to see its tiny rise and fall. He threw his hearing out to the oxygen concentrator, but that was the same, too. Everything was the same. Nothing was different.

He waited fifteen more minutes. In which no sense of confusion he held for this movie and where it was going was cleared, and in which Glassman didn't open his eyes or even twitch with the tiniest sense of awareness. It took the average person around seven minutes to fall asleep. Shaun couldn't judge off his breathing, to tell whether it had deepened. It was always shallow, now. But certainly he had to be asleep by now? The television was low enough; Shaun had managed to sneak his hand out and thumb down the volume enough times to make it so, without Glassman knowing.

When these fifteen minutes were up, and Shaun resolved to try again, he started to reach out for it a second time, to just press the power button. In doing so, he had to lean off of the wall and straighten up a bit, and it seemed like the tiniest of shifts on top of the mattress was enough of an alarm clock. Glassman's eyes opened again, and Shaun flinched backwards, hoping he hadn't noticed the attempt, or that he wasn't able to connect the dots. He put his eyes front, as if he truly was interested in the fates of the characters he knew nothing about. And he tried not to let his expression waver when Glassman once again forced himself to sit up more in bed, and fell into a small fit of coughing.

Once the hacking episode was over, Shaun's eyes flickered over to him, and Glassman looked over at him at the same time. The older man lifted his glasses so that he could rub at his eyes. Shaun's heart sank, because that just meant he was putting off sleep even more, and sleep was really just what he needed. If he would just listen to him… The thought was interrupted when Glassman spoke. His voice was barely able to be heard; Shaun had to bend just to try and make it out. Each word was surrounded by a tiny gasp. Like he'd run a mile and in two seconds and was just trying to spit something out. "How's it look?" he asked, and he must have meant the movie.

Shaun blinked, staring at him in silence.

. . . .

"How's it look, Shaun?" Glassman asked, a smile brightening not only his face, but his voice as well. The two of them were standing in the middle of an open, grassy space. Bordering the expanse of grass, on the horizon, were large buildings of every branch of education imaginable. To the left some ways away was the library; it was shaded under large, arching tress, and already there were a couple people outside on the grass or sitting down on its steps. Towards their right, just able to be seen over the rise, was the Memorial Arts Building, for ethics classes and philosophy classes, and logic classes. Down the hill where they'd walked from the parking lot, was the business building, where classes like Intro to Economy were held. Straight ahead of them was the building of sciences— psychology, and biology, and anatomy, and sociology, and countless others. That was where Shaun would be, mostly. If he decided to come here.

He and Glassman were both standing in the middle of the small clearing on the campus. A clearing where it was imagined students could sit and pass their time when it was warm out. There was a small pavilion where other students and their families were getting food. Closer to the science building – Young Hall was its name – was a large gazebo with chairs and tables underneath a canopy. That was where people were eating, but Shaun wasn't hungry and Glassman wasn't suggesting they stop. Shaun had suffered through far too much socializing and questions up until this point, so the last thing he wanted to be asked was what he liked most on a hotdog.

He was holding a map of the campus, and he was well aware of the fact that Glassman was staring at him. He brushed it off, and without a word he started to march for the building ahead. And, also without a word, Glassman simply followed him. They walked past Butler Hall, where Shaun had read most of the faculty had their offices. They passed another large building – Roemer Hall – where all the English classes would be held. Until Shaun led the way up to the front doors and let himself inside, Glassman right behind him.

They came into the building, and Shaun immediately began to smile. It was huge, and open, and looking to the left, beside a sign that declared: 'Can you dig it? Our archeology department is the best!' was a large glass case displaying artifacts and fossils. There was a poster near the stairs that declared: 'Save the date! September fifth: our awesome Public Health department is teaching a FREE CPR class! Mouth-to-mouth resuscitate, what a way to get a date!' And at the top of the stairs, near the first floor's entryway, was a bulletin board that was already crammed full of posters and flyers for the upcoming semester. He stopped and tried to take them all in at once. 'Wanna make $200? The Psychology Department needs more test subjects this semester!' 'Pin-The-Aorta-On-The-Heart! Back-To-School-Bash August 25th hosted in the anatomy lab for all health students!' 'November 23rd, don't miss the concert band's performance in the theater! Free to everyone!'

Shaun blinked and turned, moving push through the first floor's double doors. Glassman followed him faithfully, and he tailed after him into one of the doors lining the hallway. They came into the anatomy lab, vacant and empty. But Shaun lit up at the models that were set up already for the students that wished to wander through and check things out. There was a skeleton in the far corner of the room, hanging opposite the teacher's desk. There was sagittal-cut model of the human body and all its organs nearer to the flat tables in front of them. In the cupboard across from them were dozens of microscopes. Just the sight of it all put him over the moon.

Glassman watched as Shaun scurried forward and dropped his map on one of the tables a little carelessly. He rushed over to a model of the heart that was sticking out. And, as if he was already there to attend the anatomy student party, he reached out and traced along the aorta, his eyes bright. Glassman repeated his question from before: "How's it look?" He looked over it himself, passing his own judgements. "It looks like it's quite the university," he noted. "Though I'm sure you've done more research than I have, when it comes down to it."

Shaun smiled. Softly, not speaking too loud in the entirely-empty classroom, he murmured: "It has a very low dropout rate. Its library is brand-new, and fully redone. Their pre-medicine program is rated well. And the transfer rate between here and other prominent medical schools is very good, too." His smile grew. He moved and wandered over to another model— this time of the brain. He tilted his head and surveyed it with more than enough interest. "It's close," he noted further. "And all of their student involvement is based on volunteer; it's not mandatory. So I wouldn't have to go." He sounded very pleased about this part of things.

"Well, I'm not sure you'll have to worry about dropout rates, Shaun," Glassman reasoned fondly. Shaun didn't acknowledge the hidden praise. The older man continued. "No, this is good. This university…I've heard nothing but good things. I even know a doctor that went here for their undergraduate studies— they said this place was the best they could have chosen. And who knows; maybe you'll even like student involvement…you could…get to know other people, get to like…being around other people, and working with them." Shaun turned to look over at him. The expression on his face seemed to be enough of a reply, because Glassman tilted his head to the side and abandoned the effort. "Or not."

Shaun looked back, moving on to a brain model. He picked it up and opened it so that he could look in its half. Mentally, he was already rushing through the definitions of what he knew. The excitement couldn't be held from his gaze, and Glassman laughed a little as he walked closer. "You know, Shaun, you might be able to test out of some of these classes," he offered. Shaun didn't look up. "I guess that's something we can ask them later, once we're through looking around. I'm surprised that the teachers aren't in their rooms, I thought they were supposed to be…"

"It's fine they're not here," Shaun mumbled. "I don't want to talk to any more teachers. They all talk to me differently than they talk to the other students; it's annoying." He said this conversationally. But Glassman looked over at him in a way that seemed to signal sorrow. It wasn't the first time Shaun had said something like this; it wasn't nearly the first. But he always got the same look on his face, no matter how many times he addressed the fact.

"Well…if they saw your ACT score, they'd probably change their mind," Glassman grumbled, a bit of anger creeping into his tone. Shaun didn't react, and the older man took in a breath before he went on. "And if nothing else, the moment you start taking their class and start to show them what you can do, then they'll regret the way they judged you." Shaun shrugged. He deposited the brain back on the table, where he'd found it. Glassman watched this in silence. The younger man was about to turn and head back over to the cupboard, maybe to sneak out a microscope and try it out, when Glassman reached out to stop him.

His hand only stayed on his arm briefly, and he didn't try to grab him. It was just enough to get Shaun's attention. And when Shaun did turn, he met his gaze steadily, silently asking him to listen to what he had to say. "Shaun, I wanted to tell you…" he murmured. The younger sobered at the change in tone. He tensed just a little bit, his nervous mind already beginning to draft any piece of bad news he could possibly receive. But what came wasn't any kind of bad news. It was something entirely different. "I wanted to tell you that I'm very proud of you," Glassman pressed.

The classroom was empty save for them, but Shaun hadn't realized how silent it had been until this moment. He just stared at Glassman, like he wasn't sure what he was even saying. Glassman looked at him a little more earnestly when he didn't even move. "I am," he reassured. "You've come so far from the boy I met in at my clinic, in more ways than one. You've learned so much, and you've overcome so much. And I am very proud of what you've been able to achieve. I know without a doubt that you'll do nothing but good going on. That you're going to astound so many people, and you're going to shock nearly everyone you meet." He shook his head. "Don't pay anyone else any mind. They'll come around. I know they will."

Shaun hesitated. He wasn't sure what to do with this. It was like handing someone who had never tried to juggle before, three balls and demanding: 'Go.' Or sticking a seven-year-old in front of an algebra equation, and encouraging them to solve it in less than three minutes. He just looked a him a little questioningly, a little blank. Eventually, though, he swallowed, and he gave a tiny, slow nod. "Okay," he mumbled, hoping that was at least close to what the right response would be. "Thank you," he added, for a little bit more good measure.

Glassman softened, looking just a little bit awkward himself. He mimicked Shaun's nod. "You're welcome," he replied. For a heartbeat they both just looked the other in the smallest hints of discomfort. Now, both of them were just staring, unsure. But then Glassman cleared his throat and turned, looking around pointedly. "We should look around more of the campus," he offered. "If you're trying to decide on whether or not you want to come here, you'd better look around as much as you can."

"Yes," Shaun agreed, and immediately he moved on from the moment of panicked tension. He turned and he started out of the classroom, to hopefully find somewhere else just as interesting or pertinent. Glassman sighed a little bit and smiled, turning and trailing after him once more, not even missing a beat.

. . . .

Shaun forced a smile on his face, even though it hurt his lips to drag them up into place. He turned, and his eyes drilled holes into the television instead, even though he wasn't looking at anything that was happening. The colors seemed distant and unimportant, and before he knew it, the shades were blurring and smearing through a sheen of water. He took in a breath that was sharper than normal. And he tried to keep his voice as steady and unaffected as possible when he croaked back: "It's very good."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He was just finishing off his careful arranging. It had been slow going, but it was just because he wanted to get everything completely right; the hours spent pinning and setting up each photograph was done with an unimaginable amount of thought and focus. Glassman had stored all the photo albums somewhere in the basement— it had taken a long enough time on its own for Shaun to just find where they were to begin with. Once he had, the rest of the morning had been passed gently worming out each picture and trying to find a place for it. Whether that meant posting them onto the wall of the room or slipping them into another frame, so they could rest on the dresser or the bedside table, Shaun was willing to do the work. Aaron had said it wasn't worth the effort, but Shaun was adamant. He didn't mind.

Now, he was just doing his finishing touches. A large portion of the photos were all along the wall at Glassman's bed; all he would have to do was turn his head just a little bit to the left, and he could look over the collage that Shaun had delicately constructed, each one lined up neatly against the other, so that nothing was out of line. He'd arranged together dozens of pictures, all different, and all ranging from the time and their own situation, though Shaun had tried his best to keep some sort of order to it. He would be too irritated by it if it was a cacophony.

There was a photo of Glassman standing beside Doctor Aoki outside the doors of Saint Bonaventure— Shaun wasn't sure of its backstory, but he could imagine it was a required 'First Day' photo of sorts. There was another photo of Glassman sitting beside someone Shaun had never seen before; they were both smiling. Maybe they were a distant family member. Maybe they were an old patient, fully recovered and bursting with gratitude. Another photo was of Glassman when he was much younger; he was wearing a cap and gown, along with a huge and eager smile. There was one of him with a young woman, hand in hand. There was another of him holding a young girl on his hip, pointing out of frame for her to look at something Shaun couldn't see. One of that same young girl's birthday; she was grinning over the candles on her birthday cake. One of the young girl a little older, with long hair and an expression on her face that definitely said: 'Get the camera out of my face, please.'

Rooting through the horde downstairs, Shaun had found that there was an entire album dedicated to him— he'd had no idea. But it was all there. He had sat there for ages by himself, thumbing numbly through the pages. But the shock had subsided, and he had stacked it on top of the rest to lug back. He had arranged the photos of the two of them so they were nearest to Glassman's head— the most easily seen. There were so many. All different. There was a photo of the time that he and Glassman had gone to the beach; Shaun had absolutely hated it, and the snapshot made it very clear. He was standing on the shore, his mouth tightly drawn into a frown as he just stared at the camera. It was a little bit shaky and out of focus…Shaun wondered if that was because Glassman had been laughing while he'd taken it.

There was a picture of Shaun holding up an exam booklet with a large 100% scrawled over the top in pen. He was wearing a broad smile on his face; it must have been one of his first exams, because the joy over each perfect score had dulled more and more with every exposure. There was one of them together in a photo not unlike the other of Glassman. They were standing side-by-side, twin smiles spread over each of their faces. Shaun was in a cap and gown, holding the degree he had been freshly given. Glassman was standing beside him, radiating pride. There was another that was more recent, but it felt like it had been taken hundreds of years ago— it was Shaun's first day at Saint Bonaventure. He wasn't smiling at the camera like Glassman was, and his hands were clasped neatly behind his back.

Looking at it now, the young doctor wondered why in the world he hadn't smiled.

He was doing the last finishing touches. He was propping up a photograph of Glassman's parents on the dresser straight across from the bed. Shaun had never seen them before, but they looked like they were nice. Though, truth be told, he didn't have very high standards. Glassman was watching him, like he had been all morning. He was tired and exhausted, today. More than usual. His eyes were halfway open, and mostly all that could be heard was his soft and slightly quickened breathing. Shaun was trying his best not to focus on it. His eyes flickering over the walls and the dressers and tables, Glassman cracked a weak grin. "You should have gone into interior design, Shaun…" he whispered, his eyes drifting closed again.

Shaun turned and picked up another frame, a close-up photograph of Maddie smiling, and he put it up by the other one. "No thank you," he murmured, and if he wasn't any wiser, he would have thought that Glassman laughed at this. "This isn't interesting. Not like surgery."

"You can…stop," Glassman rasped. Again, if Shaun wasn't any wiser, he would have thought a bit of guilt leaked into his voice with this.

"No," Shaun replied at once. He took a step back and looked over the arrangement so far. There was a little bit more space— he could probably fit another two or three before it got too cluttered to be appreciated. "I want to do this for you," he went on, looking to the pile he had left. There wasn't too much at disposal, by now. Most of them had found their new home. Or at least their new home until…

The doorbell sliced his thought process in half, and he was grateful. He perked and looked down at the hall quickly, before he turned to Glassman with a questioning stare. Had he asked someone to come? But Glassman hardly reacted to the bell. He looked asleep, though Shaun knew he wasn't. And besides, if he had been expecting someone, he would have told Shaun, certainly. Or Shaun would have seen the text, or heard the conversation; there really wasn't too much time he wasn't sitting in here with him. He shook it all off; it didn't matter. "I'll be back," he notified, like he always did.

He did pause though, before he made to answer. He ducked down and shifted through the pile of picture frames, searching for the one that had ended up buried at the bottom. When he found it, he straightened, and he ducked back over towards Glassman. He cleared a space at the corner of his bedside table, and placed the photo beside the digital clock. And he hung back for just a second, letting his stare linger over it out of habit. He'd brought the photo of him and Steve with him, just on the impulse he'd had. He'd stuffed it into his duffel bag along with everything else he'd brought to stay at Glassman's.

So far, it had been on his own bedside table. But maybe it would serve better here.

Though he wasn't sure why the thought had occurred.

He brushed it off. He turned and left Glassman's room with the same uneasiness he always did. The only way he got himself to leave was by promising himself he would be back quickly. Going by the state he was in today, he'd possibly be back before Glassman even realized he was gone. He stepped over the oxygen tubing with practiced and memorized speed now, and he rushed down the stairs, realizing just how long he had made whoever was at the door stand and wait around. He hoped they hadn't left. If they were important. If they weren't important, then Shaun wasn't even sure why they'd come in the first place, and he was already hoping they'd gone.

But when he opened the door, the people he found standing across its threshold were more than important.

And more than a surprise.

The three of them stood together on the front step. Shaun wondered whether they had come together, or if it was just strange happenstance to have them here at the same time. If he really was curious, he could have just turned to look around them to see how many cars were in the driveway. But he didn't care enough for that. He didn't care about the thought at all; it just came to be just in the effort to think about something else. And not immediately focus in on the fact that he was staring at Doctor Melendez, Doctor Lim, and Allegra Aoki.

Nobody spoke immediately, because Shaun wasn't about to be the first. They all just stared at each other; the only noise was the faint hum of the oxygen concentrator upstairs. Shaun's hand stayed on the door; his shoulders tightened and locked with a significant display of anxiousness. He looked away. Aoki's hands were clasped in front of her, and though Shaun wasn't facing her head-on, she offered him a smile. It was weak, and it was layered in sympathy. "Hello, Shaun," she greeted. Her voice was warm, but it was softer than it usually was. "How are you doing?"

Why was she asking him that? "I'm fine," he mumbled. It was all he offered, and Aoki didn't want to pry for anything more. It led to a silence that was much too tense to sit in and feel comfortable. Melendez was looking at him resident in concern— he wasn't bothering to hide it, considering Shaun wasn't looking. Eventually, the younger spoke again. "Why are you here?" The question was flat, and it was maybe a little too blunt. But it was relevant, and he wanted an answer, so he just let it hang there, in the air.

Aoki didn't seem surprised by it. "We came to see if we could check in," she returned, with a tiny dip of her head. "Melendez tried to call you and you didn't answer. But…Claire told us that wasn't unusual." Shaun frowned. He'd tried to be better at answering. But unless it was from the hospice nurse, he hardly glanced at his device when it rang. He didn't have the time to, or the energy. "So we thought we would come here ourselves. Doctor Glassman was important to all of us. It would mean a lot if we were allowed to see him."

Shaun shifted. The sentiment was earnest, but it didn't sit right with him. He closed his eyes briefly. He took in a breath that was a little sharper than usual. He was silent for a considerable few seconds. Eventually, softly, he rasped: "…Is."

She seemed confused. "Excuse me?"

Melendez closed his eyes and ducked his head a bit. Something of a wince hindered his expression.

"He is important," Shaun elaborated. She frowned, her mistake slowly dawning. "You said he 'was' important. But he's still important." The objection met complete silence. Aoki's expression swam with sorrow, and it looked for a moment as if she wanted to try and correct her error, or at least apologize for it. But she seemed to rethink it, and she shut her mouth instead. Melendez reached up to rub at his forehead. Doctor Lim ducked her head, as if the words had thrusted a heavy weight onto her. It was overwhelmingly quiet for a long stretch of time, before Shaun moved on. "You can come in," he relented, stepping aside. "Today isn't as good a day."

The three filed inside, and Shaun led the way upstairs. He warned them not to step on the tubing, and any questions that were asked were quickly fielded. Shaun didn't partake in small talk. He was tight-lipped and quiet, and all he felt when he walked into the room and saw Glassman in the same half-awake state he'd left him was just sorrow and apprehension.

He didn't want them to be here, and to see him like this. He didn't even want Glassman to be here. He didn't want any of this, and it wasn't fair that what he wanted didn't matter. It didn't matter that he didn't want to sleep curled around his cellphone, hardly able to fall unconscious because the very thought of being jarred awake, and the uncertainty of what he could be woken up for, was enough to make his heart race. It didn't matter he didn't want to watch Glassman struggle just to breathe, or that he didn't want to give him dosages of morphine frequently just to numb his constant pain. It didn't matter whenever he looked at him now, he was overwhelmed with crushing and harrowing sorrow.

It didn't matter that it hurt him every day to just slowly watch him die, and know there was nothing he was allowed to do.

None of it mattered. So why should this?

"Doctor Glassman." He spoke loudly in the effort to be heard. Sure enough, the old man's eyes cracked open halfway, and he looked over at Shaun as he started nearer to him. The others came up behind him, and thankfully it was enough to make Glassman rouse even more, mostly due to surprise. "You have visitors," he announced anyway, and he looked back at the unexpected trio. They were all standing close together, as if they didn't want to get lost. They had seen their fair share of dying patients; but still, the sorrow in their eyes rubbed Shaun the wrong way. He hated it. It made him sick.

"Hello," Glassman murmured, the two syllables cracking their way out. He made the attempt to sit up a little bit more, but it was such a tiny one that it was almost unnoticeable. He looked to the three, and a tiny smile fractured over his face. "You all…who's left to watch the hospital?" The laughter at the end of this question crumbled in on itself, and it fell into a weak cough. Nobody else spoke or intervened. They all just watched and waited, with heavy expressions. "It'll go up in flames," he wheezed, once he could suck in enough air to speak again.

Aoki kept the smile on her face that she had had downstairs. With a small glance to Shaun, she turned and sat down in the chair beside the bed. She clasped her hands in her lap, and her eyes were kind when she looked at the other. "You don't need to worry about the hospital," she reassured him kindly, years of friendship hidden underneath each word. "It's just fine."

Again, Glassman laughed weakly, and again, Shaun wished he hadn't. It sounded too tinny, and too barely-there. Like a shadow of what it was supposed to be. "For ages, I've been wishing I could take a break from it," he rasped. His speech was slow, like he was cherry-picking the words. But it was just because he had to fight so hard to get them out. "Looks like I've got my wish, finally, huh?" His eyes sparkled with a little bit of his old humor. His old, dry sarcasm that had taken Shaun so long to get the hang of.

Aoki's smile wavered just the tiniest bit. But she was composed, and just offered a laugh. She tactfully changed the subject. "We came to see how you were doing. It's not the same, without you walking the halls. Or fighting tooth and nail for hours on who you wish to hire." The both of them smiled at this. Shaun had to avert his eyes.

Doctor Lim was looking around at all of the photos that Shaun had dug out of the basement. At the ones that were taped to the wall, or on the sides of the dressers and drawers that were facing Glassman. At the frames he'd set up, with the utmost care and attention. Any bit of the room Glassman would be able to turn to, had some memory hanging there for him to see. The sight of them all crammed into this one space seemed to make her melt. "I see you've redecorated…" she murmured. "It looks great."

Glassman turned his head, half-lidded eyes slowly sliding over to the photos of him and Shaun that had been put closest to him. "Hmm…" He closed his eyes and his lips pulled into a smile. "Shaun did it…I told him he didn't have to, but he didn't listen…" He turned and looked at Melendez with that tiny smile. "I've been taking him off your hands, lately," he sighed, chuckling a little bit. Melendez only smiled in return. Glassman's expression was fond when he turned to Shaun. "He's been so attentive…" he whispered. His smile grew. Shaun's eyes began to burn. "I'm so grateful for him…"

Silence followed his words. Crushing, suffocating silence. Aoki weakened, where Glassman couldn't see. Melendez and Doctor Lim both exchanged a look, after they glanced quickly in the young doctor's direction. Shaun's expression began to crumble when Glassman didn't look away. When his smile stayed put, as well as the gratitude that was on his face. It tightened Shaun's stomach, and took away the air from his own lungs, so he was gasping just as much as Glassman was. His hands knitted together tight enough to cut off circulation. And before too long at all, he drew the line. "I have to go," he managed to get out. "I have to make dinner."

He turned and he left. He left saying another thing, and he left feeling the pressure of all eyes tracking his way out. He shut the door behind him, maybe a little bit louder than he really needed to. And he stood in the hall, staring with widened eyes across the floor to the wall opposite him. His breathing was fast, and pinched. A pre-hyperventilation to him, but to Glassman, this kind of heaving was normal. He started to try and make for the stairs. He really did need to make something to eat— if not for him, then just for Glassman.

He turned and took a few steps in the proper direction. Before his knees gave out, and he turned, pushing his back against the wall and dropping to the floor, instead. He pulled his knees up to his chest and hung his head, reaching up to knit his fingers tightly in his hair. He gasped, struggling to calm himself down on his own, shaking his head and closing his eyes to try and suppress everything else. "I didn't want to do this," he breathed aloud, so quiet he could barely even hear himself. He cringed, and sucked in another gasp.

Glassman's voice rang in his ears, and his eyes stung even more. Why was he grateful? Why did he want this? Why was he making him do this? Why was this happening? How long would it go on? And immediately the intrusive thought just gave him more guilt, because of what that ending would entail. He felt like he was being torn in two. He wanted this all to stop – he wanted Glassman to stop being in pain – but he wanted him to live. He wanted him to stay. He just wanted things to be the way they used to be. He wanted to see Glassman at work, and have breakfast with him every Monday morning. He wanted Glassman to be well. Why didn't Glassman want that? Why had he given up at the hospital so easily?

"I didn't want to do this, I didn't want to do this," he rambled, his voice breaking into fragments. His shoulders shook with suppressed hitches as he whispered to himself. His words shivered and shook, and his right hand moved stiffly back and forth in his hair, trying to ruffle it against his rising panic. He felt like the room was spinning. He felt like his lungs were failing. Like he was failing, and he couldn't stop himself. Like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. Like he was falling through nothing, and there wasn't anything to grab onto. "You're making me do this," he cringed, closing his eyes even tighter. "You're making me do this, you're making me lose you, I don't want to lose you, not after him, don't make me lose you, too…"

. . . .

Shaun was gasping in and out, heavy and sucking breaths that rasped against his throat on the way down and stung his trachea. His heart was hammering against his chest, and his head spun thanks to his irregular and fast breathing. He couldn't think straight; his thoughts were everywhere and nowhere at the same time. All he could concentrate on was the lingering grief and terror. He was drowning in it, and for the life of him he couldn't get himself to tread the water. All he did was slap uselessly, barely managing to keep his head above it.

He must have woken up with a scream, because the door to his bedroom suddenly opened, and Glassman rushed inside. The abrupt entrance did nothing for his panic, and Shaun stiffened, his eyes going even wider as he stared unseeingly down at the comforter. He was trembling, shaking as if the room was in subzero temperatures. Only in the very back of his consciousness did he realize Glassman was rushing forward to him, and dropping down on the edge of his bed. "Shaun?" He was worried. Was he worried? Shaun tried to suck in deeper breaths— his lungs were burning without the proper amount of oxygen. "Shaun, what happened?" he asked, looking over him in almost just as much alarm.

Shaun cringed, and he ducked away from the question. The answer stuck in his throat. He couldn't even get an answer out if he wanted to, though. Not now. His hands were buried in his hair, and his head was shaking hard every other second. Glassman closed his eyes and took a deeper breath, and he asked softly, trying to talk quieter and put a cap on his own fear. "Breathe, Shaun," he murmured. A simple concept before, but one that seemed more than impossible in this moment. "Calm down…it's okay. We're okay. Everything is okay. We're fine. It's all fine."

He said each phrase slowly, with a regularized rhythm. And when he was finished saying them all, after a small pause, he went back and said it all again. He kept his voice low and soothing. His words were repetitive and stable. It was something else to focus on, and gradually Shaun could focus on it more and more. It came back to the forefront of his attention, beating away the nightmare he'd jarred out of, and everything that it entailed. The noose around his neck began to loosen, and his lungs started to listen to him again, and drink in air slower. The room stopped spinning as much. His hands slowly fell away from his head and they tucked down close to his chest, instead.

Glassman waited and watched, eventually falling into silence as he recognized that Shaun was coming back to himself. When he did, Glassman spoke, in nothing more than a whisper. "Was it another nightmare, Shaun?" he asked. A pretty pointless question in particular, since it was around four in the morning, and Shaun's hair was still a mess from sleep. There wasn't much else that it could be, all things considered. Not to mention that this wasn't the first time it had happened. It didn't happen as often as it used to. When he'd first started to stay with Glassman, it was much worse— when he did manage to find sleep back then, he was almost always jerked awake by his own terror. It was much rarer, now. But when it did happen, the fear was always just as palpable.

Shaun managed a nod. A stiff, and singular one. He winced again. Silence hurt his ears to listen to, but at least he couldn't hear his own heartbeat anymore. It was quieting, and slowing, and he could finally wrap his head around what was actually going on. What was real, and what wasn't. It had taken a scary moment, but the moment had passed. A loose sigh shook its way out of him. He closed his eyes. "I had to go back," he rasped. It wasn't a full and clear-cut explanation. Or at least, it might not have been for anyone else.

But for Glassman, it made perfect and immediate sense. His expression clouded at once with deep sorrow. "No, Shaun, no," he murmured, his eyebrows pulling together. He leaned a little closer, and Shaun wished he wouldn't. All the same, though, he didn't lean away. "No…you'll never have to go back," he pledged, emotion shaking behind the vow. "Ever, Shaun. Your…they have no right to you. Not after everything they did." Shaun didn't relax, or loosen. It felt like something was stuck in his throat. "You never have to see them again; not if you don't want to. They're completely removed from your life."

Shaun was still staring at the blanket. But now, his eyes inched up to meet Glassman's gaze. His expression was soft, and caring. Completely unlike the face he had seen – or had remembered – in his dream. The glaring and the yelling, and the harsh vice grip that clamped on his arm and yanked him hard, with enough force that it felt like it was actually there, and still was. A contrast to the harsh snaps of 'You're the stupidest kid I've ever seen!' or 'It's your fault Steve died, if you weren't such an idiot—'

Shaun didn't know what to do in the face of something so different. His joints slowly loosened. His arms fell the rest of the way to the mattress. He looked away from the expression, finding himself unable to do anything else. "Yes," he agreed, barely whispering. "I know." Now, he did, anyway. It was just hard to get over that initial hurdle. The brief period of time where your eyes snapped open, and you weren't sure whether not you were in reality or still in a dream. Where he didn't know whether the fist that had been coming for him a moment ago would finish its arc and ram him to the ground. Now, he knew the blow would never come. That it'd never been there in the first place. He was with Glassman. Nobody else. It was just them. "I know," he repeated. "…I know…"

Glassman stared at him, waiting to make sure he was alright, maybe. But Shaun had been talked back from the edge. He was alright, now. The frightening memories and images, and the grief-filled recollection of seeing his brother fall to his death, were still in the back of his mind like cobwebs. All that was left was to try and clear them out as best he could— to take a broom and try to wipe them clear and hope that they wouldn't come back. Aaron leaned forward a bit more and asked: "Would you like to talk about it, Shaun?"

Shaun was silent for a long stretch of time. After a moment's consideration, he whispered: "No." The rejection was tiny, but it was firm. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to talk about anything. Ever. What was the point? There was nothing to be changed about any of it. It had all happened; it was in the past, and it didn't matter. Only in the hazy half-awake border of a nightmare could any of it even come back to him. It might happen from time to time, but it happened in his head. He was being ridiculous. "I don't."

Glassman nodded. He didn't fight. But he did stay sitting where he was, and his voice was still filled with concern when he went on. "Okay," he relented. "As long as you're alright, now." He hesitated, before: "Are you going to be okay? Going back to sleep? I can stay up with you, if not. We could…start a movie. We could make breakfast? I know it's early, but…I might have some pancake mix in the pantry we could dig out. I might not have chocolate chips, but…"

Shaun kept his eyes down. "No. I'm fine," he breathed.

Again, Glassman nodded. "Alright," he said, and there was more of a finality to this one. "Then I'll let you go back to bed." He turned and he stood, hesitating only briefly before he started for the door. He began to pull it closed again behind him, and he started to call out a final parting. "Good—"

"Thank you," Shaun mumbled. And that was all it was: just a tiny little mumble. Nothing more. But Glassman stopped immediately, and at the tiny extension of gratitude he went silent. Shaun didn't go on, or say anything more. He didn't need to. The two words encapsulated more than what he could do justice with. And it seemed to go beyond just the simple act he'd done of sitting with him and helping him realize where he was and what was going on. The thanks went much farther than that. Shaun didn't have to say it, to point it out. It was just there.

Glassman's voice was quieter. It was the tiniest bit choked. "You're very welcome, Shaun," he murmured, lingering in the doorway.

Shaun sat in the dark for a moment more. Before he turned and laid back down, pulling the blankets back tightly over himself and turning his back to the door. He curled into a tight ball and tried to reap as much comfort from the position as he could. He closed his eyes, just having to trust that he would not fall back into the same nightmare. And, eventually, he listened to the tiny click of the door as Glassman closed it shut.

. . . .

"Breathe…" His words were tiny whispers, which shook like leaves in the wind. He was struggling to get himself to listen, and get back under control. This entire time, he'd been struggling to keep himself together. It was difficult, but he had been managing it. It was hard…but it was what he had to do. "Calm down…it's okay…" His hand moved stiffly again, to ruffle through his hair. A crude and makeshift attempt to recreate a feeling of warmth, and safety. A feeling that, even though things looked horrible, they would all work out in the end simply because you wished it to be so. Simply because if it didn't, then nothing else mattered.

"We're okay…everything is okay…we're fine…" he told himself. Whispering it thinly under gasps that were slowly becoming deeper and calmer. It was fine. He would be okay. He was taking care of him. He wouldn't let him die; not while he was here to try and stop it. He couldn't stop it with Steve— he wouldn't make the same mistake. Even if Glassman had left the hospital, Shaun refused to acknowledge that, in this situation, he didn't still have a fighting chance. It would all be okay. They had gotten this far— who knew how much farther they could take it. Months…years…Shaun would forfeit sleep, if he had to. He wouldn't eat, he wouldn't even blink, he would just stay at his bedside if it meant he was able to keep him going.

His breathing was more ragged and worn, now. He sagged back against the wall and he pulled his arms down to his chest, like he'd done so long ago. He hunched his shoulders and closed his eyes. "It's fine," he whispered into the hallway. As if there was someone beside him, fraught with worry like he was, and he was just trying to reassure them. As if he wasn't completely and utterly alone. As if his voice just didn't bounce back sorrowfully to himself when he murmured: "It's all fine."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Shaun stood at the stove, looking down at the pan with a vacant and empty expression. Making grilled cheese wasn't difficult. His motions were robotic, and they happened without him even thinking through them. But the stovetop was turned down to its lowest heat; he was taking his time, and making the simple process lengthen out and stretch. It might have been just to allow the three upstairs to have more time to be alone with Glassman. Or it might have just been an excuse to stay out of the room, and avoid the scene currently unfolding there. Which would be an unbearably selfish reason. But Shaun wasn't sure which one it was.

He just stood in the silence of the kitchen. Watching the bread slowly toast, bit by tiny bit. Watching the cheese slowly heat and ooze. As long as he didn't burn it, he would take as much time as he possibly could. The silence was deafening, but maybe it was easier to stomach than the alternatives at his disposal. He was just getting used to this silence again, and this isolation – because for what felt like the past three months he was constantly at Glassman's side – when suddenly, the silence was broken.

"What are you making?"

Shaun stiffened. He didn't lift his eyes for a moment; he just stared down at the food blankly. But he did turn after a pause, to see Melendez standing in the entryway of the kitchen. His attending was standing with his hands still in his pockets; when Shaun met his eyes, he offered a tiny smile. It looked strange on his face. Shaun had never gotten a smile from Melendez without first answering a question correctly. Now, it was just…here. And it was filled with that sympathy he hated. He turned away; he couldn't look at it. "Grilled cheese," he mumbled. "It's easy."

Melendez's eyes flickered to the pan. He nodded a little bit. Silence gathered, and it lingered. The older doctor's forehead creased, and his voice was measured and soft when he asked: "I guess…not a lot of things are easy, right now, are they?" Shaun went stiffer. His mouth pressed into a thinner line. He held the spatula tighter in his hand. Melendez noticed each and every change, and his expression only weakened more. But he was resolute. "Are things easy, Shaun?" he pressed gently. Shaun kept his eyes down. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears all over again. "You haven't…called Claire, or Jared. You don't know how often they talk about you. It's annoying." He said this last phrase halfway teasingly. To off put the actual concern that was everywhere else.

But Shaun just deflated. "I'm sorry…"

"Don't be." Melendez shook his head. He took in a slow breath. "I just meant…you know, if you needed help, but you just didn't want to ask for it, or…or know how to ask for it…I wouldn't blame you at all. I would understand. It's not as easy as people say it is." Shaun hesitated, but after a heartbeat, he did lift his head again. His expression was sorrowful— it said more than he ever could. Melendez met the stare head-on. Steadily. "But you can, Shaun," he urged. "It's completely fine, to. I know sometimes it might not feel that way. But…none of us…want you to deal with this all on your own. Because you don't have to."

He didn't know what to say. He looked back at the stove, to make sure he didn't burn anything.

Melendez bit down on the inside of his bottom lip. He took a few steps forward, earning his attention once more. "Shaun." His voice was a mix of what it always was – stoic and stable and assertive – and something completely different— kind and gentle and remorseful. Shaun wondered how something could be so familiar and so foreign at the same time. But he figured that the same could be asked about Glassman, now. "I know we haven't…I know we didn't get off on the right foot. And sometimes we still don't…" He didn't seem sure on how to finish. Shaun wasn't sure what he was supposed to say.

Melendez struggled on. "But you should know that you're a good student. A very good one. You have some bad ideas sometimes, and most of the times, you have crazy ones. But…sometimes the crazy ones are the best ones. People just don't have the guts to say them, and you do. And you know you're right, when you do, even if you aren't." Shaun stared at him, taking every word in silence. Melendez offered him a smile. "You're arrogant," he praised. "You're really arrogant. And stubborn. So you're going to be a fantastic surgeon."

Shaun was silent.

Melendez sobered. "And if you need help…you have an entire hospital of people willing to be there. Or just…you know, text Claire. Maybe. Talk to Jared. Something other than just holing yourself up here." He shrugged. "I know you have the medicine under control. I know you don't need help with…the technical part of it. But I also know how hard it is to watch someone you love die." This came out with more difficulty. Shaun's eyes welled all over again. "So…you know." His confidence was breaking apart, and his voice was getting stiffer again. "If you just…need anything. Text one of them. Text me. Anyone. We're all…we're all here. For you."

He took this in. He watched Melendez like he was speaking Greek. Like it was all gibberish that he couldn't possibly begin to understand. Finally, he said something. It was tiny, and fragile. "Are you only being nice to me because he's dying?"

Melendez stiffened, taken aback. He blanched. "I—" He shook his head fast. "No, Shaun, of course not," he blustered. The familiar edge came back into his tone just a bit. "I mean it. I mean all of it. I just…wanted to tell you. Of course I'm not just saying this, I wouldn't do that."

Shaun held his stare. He said nothing; his eyes just teared more. He turned back to the pan and fished the sandwich onto the plate he'd already placed on the counter. He turned the stove off, and he stepped around Melendez. He left the kitchen without another word.

The older doctor didn't even try to stop him; he just stayed put, staring straight ahead with a pained expression.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It wasn't a text message that woke him up, this time. It wasn't a call. It wasn't even a nightmare. What woke him up was a loud crash. A banging noise, and then another. And another, and another, all in a rush, getting faster and louder as it went. From the very first thud, Shaun's head was snapping up from his pillow. His eyes flew open, and once he could gather himself and register the sound, white-hot terror rushed through him, and started to burn away any lingering sleep. He was awake at once, and he was immediately shaking with panic. He whirled down and turned his phone on.

He didn't have a text. It was 2:13 in the morning.

He shoved his covers off him and tore for the door. He ripped it open and immediately turned to rush down the hall, towards where the thuds had come from. His heart was ramming against his ribcage; he could hardly breathe, and fright was choking him. His thoughts were saturated with fright and confusion, some part of him still trying to wake up from his measly three hours of sleep. He tripped over himself as he ran, and halfway down the hall he stumbled so hard that he hit the wall with a painful smack. But he just righted himself and kept running, realizing that Glassman's door was open.

He'd closed it. He thought he'd closed it, on the way out!

Shaun burst into the room, not even trying to hide the terror inflicted by the rude awakening. But when his eyes went to the bed, his heart stopped entirely.

Glassman wasn't there. The bed was empty. The covers were tossed to the side.

He was shaking from head to toe, now. His mind stuttered blank, and he whirled around to look over the entire room, as if Glassman would just be sitting in the corner, waiting for him there. But he wasn't in any corner. He wasn't anywhere. Shaun's hands went up to his head, his nails digging down into his skull as he reeled and gasped in a few hyperventilating breaths. He shook his head once and he turned on his heel, rushing back out into the hall. "Doctor Glassman?" he called, his voice trembling. He didn't get a call, and his voice came out next in a strained yell. "Doctor Glassman!?"

He stood there for a second, his eyes twice their normal size. He got nothing. He closed his eyes, and for a second, completely lost and confused on what was happening and what he should do, he started to shut down. When suddenly the realization dawned, and his stomach dropped. His arms fell to his sides and he whirled around to look down to the left. And he started to run again, down to the bathroom, as a last resort. Glassman could have gotten up on his own, to try and make it there himself. Was it because Shaun had tried to argue with him, last time? Did he try to walk there on his own just because of that?

"Doctor Glassman!" he yelled the entire way down to the door, and when he finally got to it, he raised his arm and knocked hard and fast on the door. "Doctor Glassman! Doct—!" He stumbled backwards when the door fell open on itself. It had been cracked to begin with; there was nobody in there. He stuttered into silence, staring at this second empty room in shock. He was gasping, and his hold on himself – already loose – was only slipping faster. The crash— he'd thought it had come from Glassman's room, but if he wasn't in his room, and he wasn't here, then—

He went rigid. It slammed into him like a punch, and he shoved himself off the doorway and whipped around. There were stairs— not right next to the bathroom, but it was close enough. If Glassman got confused and kept walking— if he stumbled too sharply and veered to the side— if he wanted to just go downstairs and thought he could manage it and tried—

He broke into the run yet again, this time the fastest tear yet. He sprinted the last few steps it took to reach the staircase, and he turned the flashlight on on his phone as he half-ran, half-fell down the steps. His throat closed in on itself when he finally saw him. His panic only burned brighter, burned harder. Glassman was at the foot of the stairs, prostrate on the ground. He wasn't moving. He wasn't moving, he wasn't moving! Shaun's heart was in pieces, and his sharp inhales were punctured with sobs as he yelled again, this time in a scream. "Doctor Glassman!"

Not again, not again. Not this again, he couldn't do this again.

The second Shaun hit the landing, he fell to his knees. The shock of the impact was heavy, and it lanced painfully up his legs. His phone clattered to the floor. He didn't care. It went right over his head. "Doctor Glassman!" he yelled, reaching out and turning him over so that he was on his back. He grimaced with the effort while trying to be as gentle as possible, but with the amount of fear and grief coursing through his veins, it was a last-ditch thought. His hand flew to Glassman's neck, to check his pulse. Hyperventilating, Shaun closed his eyes to focus. To reach out and find the tiny beat that would let him know he was okay. That he was still there— that he was still here with him.

At first, he almost collapsed, when it did not come. He started to lean down, bending low under the weight of loss unshouldered now for years. It was just as heavy, just as suffocating. Just like he remembered it had been. But then he felt it, weak and small, and he snapped back up, his mind going blank in relief. Yes— it was there. He was still alive. He could feel it. Tears were rushing down his cheeks, and he looked over his shoulder at the stairs. The cannula must have been torn out of his nose when he fell. Would the oxygen concentrator's tubing reach this far down?

Shaun looked wildly back down to Glassman, but he jumped to his feet and ran back up the stairs, where it had fallen off. He slipped and slammed into the steps hard, but he just gritted his teeth and shoved himself back up. He fumbled to grab the lifeline, and he rushed back down, knowing already the damage that was already done by being without it for just this long. The tubing barely managed the length. Shaun had to grab Glassman under the arms and pull him a foot closer, so that he was flush with the edge of the lowest step. He grimaced with the effort, but once he got him there, the was able to hook it back into place.

He put his hand down lightly on Glassman's stomach, trying to see whether its up and down would get more prominent— if he was helped by the oxygen being returned, or the help had come too late. Right now, it was barely moving. Shaun ducked his head low – so low that it almost touched the man's chest as well. After a moment of sheer and suffocating dread, he took his hands back and he whirled to the side, lurching out to grab his phone. In his rush, he didn't grab it tight enough, and it fell back onto the floor before he could bring it halfway up. He yanked it back, and without thinking, because by now he couldn't, he called the first person that came to mind.

He all but slammed the phone up to his ear. Glassman was still unconscious; he wasn't even rousing. With every ring that passed, Shaun's shoulders shook harder, and more and more tears rushed down his face. Sobs were edging some of his heavier exhales, and though he tried to calm himself down enough to regularize his breathing, the effort was in vain. He thought that the call would ring itself out, but right before it could, the line was picked up. The voice on the other end was fuzzy with sleep.

"Mm— hello?" Claire mumbled, a yawn edging out the end of her greeting.

"He fell!" Shaun burst, frantic and not even worrying about the fact he was practically screaming in her ear without warning at two in the morning. That didn't matter. Nothing else mattered. "He fell, he fell!" he yelled, rambling. More tears rushed down his face, and he shook his head fast. "I was asleep, I wasn't— I shouldn't have told him— if I hadn't told him, he wouldn't have— he fell, he fell, I can't get him back up, I need help!" The plea passed his lips before he could even really realize he was going to ask for it. But it was his breaking point. As soon as it did, his eyes burned hotter, and he curled down on himself, beginning to crumble down into blind panic. He'd kept himself steady this long; now he was falling apart. "I need help, I need help, I need help!" he sobbed.

She was awake at once. Immediately, a switch had been flipped. "Shaun. Shaun, calm down. You need to calm down." Shaun clamped his mouth shut; a mournful, sorrowful sound choked itself in the back of his throat. The only thing more painful to listen to than his frightened yelling. "I'm going to be right over there, okay? I'm going to be over there as soon as I can, just give me ten minutes. Can you give me ten minutes?" In the background, there was the sound of rushing around, of keys rattling. "Seven minutes, Shaun, give me seven minutes and I'll be right over there. I'll call Jared; he'll come with me too. We're going to be right there, Shaun, okay? It'll be fine."

"This is my fault," Shaun choked, raising a shaking hand to his forehead. "This is my fault, I messed up, I shouldn't— I shouldn't have—" He flinched, like he had been slapped across the face. "I didn't want to do this!" he cried, breaking down. "I didn't want to do this, I wanted to save him! I wanted to help him!" He hung his head, screwing his eyes shut as he knelt low over Glassman, one hand going back down to try and track the rise and fall of his stomach. "I didn't want to do this…" he sobbed, his shoulders curling inward, as if in pain.

"I know," Claire said. Her voice was pained, but it was soothing. Only the tiniest bit choked, because she was an expert as keeping her emotions in line. An expert at lying. "I know, Shaun. And I'm so sorry. But you're not in this alone, okay? I'm going to call Jared, and we're going to be right over, we're going to help you, and we'll help make sure everything is okay. Alright?" Shaun said nothing. He couldn't anymore; it was too much. Everything had been collapsing around him for weeks, and by now he was just too exhausted to prop the walls up anymore. They were crushing him. "Shaun, it's going to be okay. Give me seven minutes, I'm already in my car. Can he last seven minutes? What's going on?"

Shaun's hand went slack. The phone fell to the floor with a heavy thud. Maybe the screen even shattered. He didn't look to see. The young man just hunched over at the waist, like he was going to be sick, breaking down into a fit of sobs that hurt his chest on the way out in their severity. He kept his hand on Glassman, like it was a lifeline. He was bent over low, his forehead almost touching the other's. Claire was saying something on the other line. Her voice was too indistinct to make out, and Shaun wasn't about to pick up the phone again. He couldn't.

He just crouched there in the pitch black and waited. For something. Either for the end, or for something that would just delay the end for a little bit longer.

Wondering if, at this point, it even mattered, and immediately hating himself for the thought.

He waited. It was all he had been doing for weeks, and it was all he could do, now.

The only sounds in the entire house was the loud drone of the oxygen concentrator, and his own sobbing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some notes needed for a bit of explanation. 
> 
> 1.) Emily's House is a branch of hospice that is used when there's little to no hope left. Patients are taken there only to make their last day or two comfortable, with just more influx of morphine and sedatives to make passing easier. There's a better room with more space for people to come and visit. I changed the name of what the organization was for my own situation, but all the facts I stated are just as relevant. They have counselors there for the family, and it's actually a very wonderful place.  
> 2.) The song that's mentioned later is I Need Never Get Old by Nathaniel Rateliff & The Night Sweats. It's a very good song, and I hold it close to my heart. You don't need to listen to it or anything, for it to make sense, but I just thought I'd list it just in case anyone else was curious.
> 
> To those who are reading, thank you very much. And words cannot express my gratitude to the people who have extended kind well wishes or thoughts. My aunt passed away only a few hours after I posted this first chapter. We've finished all the services and the visitations by now, and now is just the time to recover. Writing this has helped me handle a lot of my own emotions, so thank you for allowing me to vent in this way. There will be one more chapter of this story before it's over; I find that for some reason, because it's certainly not on purpose, three chapters is my magic number when it comes to TGD multi-chapter fics. But nevertheless! I hope you all like this chapter, and I hope I can give this story the send-off it deserves. <3 
> 
> As usual, I always read through the story twice to try and get all the typos, but some still stick. If there are any typos or anything else I could improve upon, please don't hesitate to point them out.

He was numb. He couldn't feel anything. He couldn't do anything, either. He could just stand there and stare, which wasn't helpful at all. He knew it wasn't. A voice rang out in the back of his head, a long-ago forgotten habit he had tried to leave in the past, where it belonged. But here it was: back again. 'Useless,' it hissed in his ear. 'Stupid. Pathetic. Weak.' Despite the fact that it was doing nothing but wringing his stomach into painful knots, Shaun did nothing to try and stand up against it. He couldn't very well do anything— how could he, when the voice was right? He just stood there, miserable and sorrowful. Just watching everything unfold and listening to the long-ago voice go on. 'Idiot. Moron. Hopeless.'

Shaun found that he hadn't been able to properly help Jared and Claire when they'd finally burst into the house. He hadn't known how much time had passed— everything had been a blur. Later, he'd realized that somehow, they had made it in just under ten minutes, as Claire had promised. Heaven knows nobody wanted to understand how they managed the feat. The very moment they'd burst inside, they had rushed over to Shaun, who had not moved from where he'd hunched over Glassman. He was still sobbing, still crying. Still rambling under his breath in a hitched and panicked voice that made his words too fast and slurred to understand.

Claire had been the one to tear him away. She had been saying something— she had probably been trying to make him feel better. Or maybe whatever she had said had just been to make herself feel better, for the way he had numbly fallen back, alarm and shock beginning to freeze over his face. He hadn't been thinking clearly enough to realize he was hindering the situation by refusing to move on his own. Claire had had to drag him back, as Jared dived down to pick Glassman up off the floor. Once Shaun had been pulled far enough away, Claire had released him and dashed back over to help.

At first, Shaun had just sat dumbly on the ground, his mind blank and his heart spasming in pain and agony. When he'd finally managed to get himself together enough to stand and stumble after, Jared and Claire were halfway back to his room. Glassman had been breathing— he had been alive. They had rushed him back upstairs, and Claire had already been calling the hospice nurse, to tell her that Glassman had fallen. The tidal wave of fear that Shaun had been suffocating underneath had slowly begun to ebb, as the realization came instead that everything was over with. And once that feeling left, all that remained was…nothing.

Now, he stood at Glassman's bedside, feeling empty as he stared down at him. His panic had drained out of him; in the wake of it all, he just felt like a shell with nothing else in it. He felt exhausted, and like he wanted to sleep for the next five years. That, or just never wake up at all. Jared had tried to rouse Glassman twice so far; the older man hadn't opened his eyes, but he'd mumbled in something resembling irritation, and for now it was better than nothing. Or at least, it would have to be. At least he was still aware.

Shaun was looking at Glassman with enough misery to fill ten swimming pools.

Claire was standing beside him, having hung up with the hospice nurse. She was looking at him in concern. He didn't need to turn and look at her to see this— he could feel it radiating off her. Nowadays, it radiated off pretty much everyone. "The nurse said she would come tomorrow. Or…later today, I guess," she murmured. It was nearly 4:30. Usually, she only came every other day, at the most. Not like it mattered; there wasn't anything the nurse could say or do that Shaun couldn't. He might not want to face the facts, but he could read them when it was needed. Claire's eyes flickered to Glassman, and her expression weakened. "But from what I can tell, he's going to be fine. You might want to up his morphine dosages…or just give them to him more frequently. He'll likely be in more pain than normal…"

Shaun refused to look at her, fighting back a swallow that was harder than normal.

He said nothing. Claire wilted. She looked over at Jared, who was looking right back at her with just as heavy an expression. Both their faces were drawn in weariness, now. They had just gotten off a fifteen-hour shift…Claire had just gotten a few sparse hours of sleep before Shaun had called her screaming for help. Of course, neither of them had hesitated for a single second before they had abandoned rest and rushed to help their friend. But now, it was catching back up to them that they had work the next morning, in only a handful of hours. They didn't have the luxury of calling in sick with no repercussions, like Shaun did. As much as they both wanted to stay, in their shared look, they both reflected that they couldn't. Not for as long as they wanted to.

Claire looked back at Shaun and hedged forward a little cautiously: "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yes," Shaun murmured, almost at once. She didn't seem reassured at the readied response. "I'll be fine."

She searched his face, but seemed to come up empty. Her shoulders drooped, and she took in a slower breath. "…Okay," she relented, and still, Shaun kept his eyes away. She sounded so sad. He wished she wouldn't. He wished she had the decency to at least hide it like other people tried to do. But even then, it wasn't a win. "We have to be back at work by ten," she began, slowly, tracking any response he might give to try and see whether or not the announcement caused him any distress. He didn't even blink. "If you don't need us anymore…then I think we're going to go. If that's alright…unless you'd like us to stay?"

Shaun's lips were pressed into a thin line. He was trying not to let them tremble.

After the silence stretched for more than ten seconds, in which the only sound was the noise of Glassman's oxygen concentrator, Claire nodded once. The silence was suffocating, and it was answer enough. "Okay," she repeated. She crafted a smile on her face, and she leaned over to let her hand rest lightly on her friend's shoulder. "Then we're going to head out, Shaun." Her words were gently. Overly so. "We're sorry this happened…if you need help, you call me, okay? Call either of us. We'll both run back over for you. For you, and him."

Shaun's hands curled tightly. He could feel his nails dig into the palms of his hands.

In this quiet, Jared took a few steps closer and offered: "Both of us will keep our phones on hand. If anything else comes up, don't hesitate, okay? We're here for you. Throughout this whole thing, we'll be here for you. For anything."

The pair waited, looking at their friend with a certain degree of anxiety. Anxiety that only grew when still refused to even look at them. It was clear that they would get nowhere else— not tonight. They couldn't blame him for that. So Claire took her hand back and just offered a smile that he wouldn't see. "Goodnight, Shaun," she murmured. "Text me later. Or…I'll text you." She got nothing, but she didn't expect anything. She just turned and flashed Jared a look. He murmured his own soft goodbye, and together the two started out of the room.

Shaun listened to their footsteps fade away. Down the hall, and receding. Until he couldn't hear them over the ever-present hum of the machine that was the only thing keeping Glassman alive. Until he could only guess that they had left the house and it was back to only the two of them again. He still didn't move— he didn't even blink. But as he stayed put and stared at Glassman, his vision in the already-dim room began to waver and smear. He felt his eyes begin to burn just as much as his throat was, after screaming and hissing so much. He tried to will himself to stop, before he got worked up all over again. But it was like trying to stop up a dam ten times as big as him.

His shoulders shook, and his throat began to swell closed on itself. He closed his eyes tightly and saw Glassman at the foot of the stairs again, unresponsive and unconscious. He ducked his head down closer to his chest, and his hands rose up to press hard against his eyes. In this newfound silence and loneliness, the voice was back, and it was louder. And a tiny whimper escaped Shaun's throat as he felt his tears come back, and sting down his cheeks.

'Worthless.' 'Waste of space.' '…can't do anything right.'

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

By this point, the tiniest noise was enough to snap Shaun right out of the deepest sleep there was. But it also helped that he was so close. After he had managed to somehow collect himself, Shaun had resolved to turn and go back to his room. He'd taken his pillow, and tugged off his blanket. He'd taken it all back to Glassman's room, and, making sure to move silently so that he wouldn't wake him, Shaun laid out the blanket so that he was sleeping on the floor by his bed. He'd just folded the comforter back over to cover himself as much as he could, and he curled up there to go to sleep, only achieving it after what felt like ages of just staring up at Glassman in lingering fright.

It had taken a while to get to sleep. But it took less than half a second for Shaun to respond to the tiny mumble above him, and jerk awake. His eyes flew open, and his body, trained at this point, stiffened as if to prepare himself to jump into action like he had when he'd heard Glassman fall. Thankfully, the sound that got his attention wasn't particularly alarming. But it was a sign that Glassman was waking up, and if he was waking up, then it was time for Shaun to do the same. He had to see if he was okay. Even if he was still fuzzy and even he felt a little sick from his lack of sleep.

He pushed himself up, his body aching from being on the floor. He got up and started to stand, realizing that Glassman's eyes weren't exactly open yet. That they weren't about to be. He looked groggy and half-awake, and Shaun was quick to diagnose the distant expression of pain on his face. He was still a little slow with sleep, but he recalled Claire's words from before. Morphine. There needed to be an increase, in either direction. Either an increase in each dosage, or an increase in their frequency. An increase in frequency would be tried first— there were plenty of syringes stores in the freezer, and there were already about ten in the box he had nearby.

"Doctor Glassman?" he asked, hovering more anxiously now, as he took a step closer. Glassman didn't react much. But his lips moved, and again came that weak mumble that didn't quite make coherent sense. He might have been trying to say something, but it was difficult to discern. "Doctor Glassman, you fell this morning," he notified, trying to keep his voice even and level. "Were…you trying to go to the bathroom?" Glassman mumbled again, and Shaun wished he could figure out what he was trying to say. If he was even trying to say something. "You were supposed to text me— why didn't you text me?" he asked. But still, all he got was an incoherent sigh.

Growing stiffer with uncertainty, Shaun closed his eyes and drew in a slow breath. 'Breathe…calm down…' He turned to the bedside table. He'd arranged and organized each one of Glassman's medications, and it was quite a number, in a small box there. In the right-hand corner was the box of tiny plungers that were already pre-loaded with morphine to twenty milligrams. He retrieved one and returned, his expression heavy. "We can administer more morphine, today, if you want." 'If you want.' That was the statement that the hospice nurse had said over and over every time she was here. Again, a little uselessly, given each of their standings. But still, she had been relentless. 'If he wants this…make sure he wants this before you give it to him…if he says he doesn't want this, then it's out of the equation…this is for if he wants it…'

If Glassman said no – if it wasn't something he wanted, no matter what that was – Shaun's job was to quickly conform.

Glassman's job was the exact opposite, when it came to what Shaun wanted.

But even when Shaun stopped long enough to remember to ask if it was alright, Glassman still seemed too out of it to reply. The young man looked worriedly over his shoulder, towards the papers on the walls that were keeping track of his administrations, as if they could possibly help. He was due for morphine anyway. So Shaun forced himself to take in yet another even breath, and he turned back to him. The morphine was orally administered— not only to make sure that it took fast effect, but that it could be given to him in any state. So this was no issue. That's what he told himself, anyway.

He leaned over the older man and got the small syringe into his mouth. Aiming to the left so it could be given into his cheek, Shaun just went slowly, gauging for any reaction and trying not to choke him. But there wasn't an issue, and once he had gradually pushed the plunger all the way down, Shaun leaned back with cautious relief. Glassman hadn't changed at all. Maybe he hadn't even realized that Shaun had given him anything in the first place. The young doctor set aside the now-empty oral dispenser. He let his stare linger on Glassman for a moment more, his hands wringing in front of him in silent apprehension.

Before he reminded himself a second time over to breathe, and he just turned to update the chart on the wall.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was bad. It was very bad. Bad days were bound to happen, right? But that was all they were— bad days. They were twenty-fours hours long, tiny bursts, and then things would get better. There were ups and downs in hospice, and this was just a tiny 'down' portion. …Right? All day, Shaun had lingered like a ghost at Glassman's bedside, struggling to coax any kind of conversation out of him that was intelligent. He had tried to persuade him to eat, or to even watch television. He'd pointed out that Wheel of Fortune was back on, and he had even promised Glassman that he would let him win this time, if he just sat up and paid attention enough to play along. As small as that would be, it would at least be a sign that he was aware and functioning.

But he hadn't done anything to show that. All day there was just…nothing.

The nurse came by, and she had offered the condolences that Shaun did not want in any way, shape, or form. She had recommended hourly dosages of morphine, which Shaun had already thought of, but was too sick to try and see. It was a large difference, between the six-hour dosages they'd had before now. It meant he was getting worse. The nurse had also taken it upon herself to put in a catheter. It would be easier to manage it, this way, she had said, and it would eliminate the issue of getting up at night, which he could not do anymore. Shaun had just nodded once. There wasn't anything else to say.

All day, he just sat in the chair at Glassman's side and waited. He didn't even leave to eat anything; he'd be too sick to force anything down. His hair was a mess and his eyes were dark with shadows, but he didn't care. All he cared about was getting Glassman to open his eyes all the way and look at him. But the old man slept all day, and when he did rouse, it was in that half-awake, foggy state where he rambled about things too indistinct to hear. If Shaun stood from the chair, it was only to pace, or to administer more morphine, desperately wishing with each added dose that this one would somehow be better than all the others that came before it. If not to help him regain his grip on reality, then at least to take away that pain that was etched into his face, still.

The room grew brighter, and then it slowly sank back into darkness again. Each hour was longer than the next, and Shaun just stared blankly into the shadows that lengthened back over the floor. Claire called around seven, probably having just gotten off work. Shaun let it ring out, just staring at the screen as if he'd never seen her contact name before in his life. She'd called again, and again Shaun had not made any kind of move for it. This seemed to be enough of a hint to her, because she didn't call him a third time, and the doorbell never rang with an impromptu visit. Shaun stayed alone, in his sentry point.

And somehow, even though it was self-inflicted, it was the worst loneliness he'd ever had in his life.

He didn't go to sleep. There wasn't a point to it, because he would have to wake up every hour to give Glassman more medicine anyway. So he just stayed up. His stomach tightening and getting even queasier in his body's exhaustion, and his head getting lighter from going without food for so long. He watched the clock, and he watched Glassman. The only two things that were important anymore. The morphine syringes piled up, and at some point he would have to leave to go get the ones he'd stashed in the kitchen. Which would require walking down the steps that he had scrambled down before, screaming for Glassman.

He didn't think he could do that yet.

Around eleven at night, he got a text. He was going to ignore it, like he was going to ignore most of the others. Until he saw who had texted him; the name immediately made him sit up a little bit more, and lean over to see his screen better. 'Hey! What is UP!? You'll NEVER guess what I got to do today! I got to go skiing! I told you I'd get to go, and it was so much fun! But I fell like five million times. You would have laughed at me, if you'd been here. I wish you were. You'd like skiing. I think.' The text had been following with far too many emojis. A winking one, a snowflake, a sparkle, a heart, and a face with a tiny tear coming down its cheek. Another one had soon followed. 'Anyway, I haven't heard from you forever, which is stupid! You used to text me all the time! What's going on down there, are you overrun by the flu plague? Did you die?' This was followed by a face that was laughing so hard it was crying.

It was from Lea.

Shaun stiffened. He hadn't texted her in ages. Before all of this, the two of them had kept up with one another every day as best they could. Through texts, and calls. About their lives, about what they were doing, about when Shaun would go to Pennsylvania and see her. Just because she left didn't mean they had to stop being friends. So at least once a week, there was a phone call. And they texted every day. Or at the very least, Lea would send him an emoji, and he would request that she not.

But ever since Glassman's failing health had become more and more apparent, and he was unable to hide it like he had been, Shaun had forgotten everything else. He'd forgotten Lea, in all of this. He hadn't even told her what was going on, it had all happened so quickly. Did that make him a bad person? He reached out and picked up his phone. His heart tearing, he stared at her last sentence for nearly two full minutes, unable to do anything else. He glanced back at Glassman. His phone's screen was casting a glow in the pitch-black room, but Glassman didn't register it at all. He was still asleep. Shaun looked back down.

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard. There was a tiny frown on his face, and his shoulders tightened. He looked at her message, and he curled further back in his chair. Slowly, taking it one little letter at a time, he started to type back. Was she watching, on the other end? At the little dots blinking to life, vanishing, blinking back again, and leaving, in his hesitation?

'I'm sorry. I've been bad with answering my—' No. He backspaced it all, and started over.

'Doctor Glassman is very sick, I've been trying to—' No. Again.

'I've been busy. I have to take care of—' Wrong. Try again.

Frustration bottled at the back of his throat. His eyes began to sting, and his expression grew pained.

'I miss talking to you. I wish you were still—' Stupid. Delete it.

'It's my fault we haven't talked. I hope you're not—' Backspace.

He couldn't even decipher the letters anymore, his tears were causing his vision to warp. It was just muscle memory at this point. He could feel his lips shaking as his thumbs still attempted to craft something together that would be good enough. Though he didn't even really know what that meant, if he was being honest. Good enough for what?

'I've been trying to help Doctor Glassman, but I don't think I can—' Start over.

'Why did you leave to—'

'I need you to tell me things won't—'

'I think I l—'

He closed his eyes as tightly as he could, and he ducked down so that his forehead pressed into his knees. He felt heat mark tracks down his cheeks— a heat that was more than familiar by now. That made him feel stupid for letting escape. For the briefest of seconds, he let his exhales become heavier and his inhales to gasp. He held tighter to his phone, and let his panic and helplessness flare. Before he picked himself up and, clamping his mouth shut tight, he finally texted her back. Quickly, as to not allow himself any chance to take it back again.

'I don't like skiing.'

She replied in an instant. 'Have you ever even been? I would pay money to see that.' She put a winking face.

He wiped his eyes, uselessly, because they were still streaming. 'No.'

Her response was slower this time. 'Oh. Well, can't blame me for trying I guess! Anyway, tell me what's going on! I miss you! How's work? Are you still up at three in the morning hunting for wild screwdrivers?'

He stared at the screen. His fingers tapped slowly back to her. 'It's fine.'

Definitely a longer pause, this time. 'You sure? You seem a little…idk. Upset.'

He didn't know what to say. So he just repeated himself. 'It's fine.'

'Shaun, is something wrong? Do you want to talk? I can call you. You'll have to give me a sec, I'm out with friends, but I can step away if you need to tell me something.'

He crumbled. Again, he ducked his head, and again he turned away to let himself break down. She was with other people. She was having fun, somewhere else, 2,818 miles away from where he was right now, in this dark room. She was skiing, and she was probably doing what she loved and working with cars. She was happy, without him. Without this. He couldn't take that away from her. He wanted her to be happy. That was all he wanted— it was all he ever wanted. So when he was able to bite back on his crying and sit up again, he sent her another text. 'No, I'm okay. I'm just tired. We had a long shift today.'

It was much easier to lie over text.

This time it was Lea's turn to hesitate, and make the typing bubbles appear and disappear. Eventually, she said: 'Are you absolutely sure, Shaun? I can call you, it's no trouble. I miss talking you anyway.'

'No. That's okay. I'm going to go to bed.' He sniffed and rubbed hard at his eyes.

'Okay. Well…goodnight, then, Shaun. Text me tomorrow?'

He cringed, and another whimper died in the back of his throat. He started to text back. 'I don't know what I'm going to—' He jammed his thumb down on the backspace. 'I hate this I hate this I hate this I hate—' He turned off his phone and all but slammed it down on the table again, out of sight. Glassman didn't react to the thud, no matter how loud it was. He sank back more in the chair and hugged his legs tightly to his chest. He heard his phone buzz, and he knew it was from Lea. But he couldn't look. He didn't want to. She wasn't here. She wasn't here— he was alone.

He had been alone plenty of times in his life. Before, he might have said that he preferred it that way.

But suddenly, sitting in the room that was once again swallowed in darkness, he was plunged into a specific breed of 'alone' that he had only felt one other time before in his life. A grating, stabbing kind of loneliness that made him want to break down and scream and cry and throw something. It was all he could do to stay curled up in the chair, his arms locked around his legs and his hands buried into his hair. Hating this feeling, but knowing that, in what would likely be no time at all, it would be the only thing that he would have.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was four in the morning, and Shaun was dozing off. His head would dip forward, before it would snap back up and he would force his eyes open. The longer the night stretched, the more often this was occurring. He'd taken the precaution to set alarms on his phone just in case he did fall asleep. One for five in the morning, and six in the morning, and seven, and so on. But he was trying his best not to let that happen. Now, he was terrified of falling asleep, just in case he missed something. He would rather be awake and tired than wake up and realize he had…that when he was asleep, he'd missed…

He didn't get the chance to complete the thought, for which he was relieved. A heavier sigh than normal escaped Glassman, and Shaun turned at once, his gaze refocusing and taking on actual attention again, rather than the faraway groggy stare he'd had since two. He shook himself and leaned forward. By now, his chair was pulled up so close to the bed that its arm was practically touching it. Sure enough, Glassman's eyes were opening again, and the tiny fact was enough to make the younger immediately alert. A smile began to trace over his face. "Doctor Glassman?" he asked, his voice already brighter. "Are you awake?"

Glassman paused a moment, but once it passed, his head turned to the side towards Shaun's voice. It made him perk even more. He turned and switched on the lamp that was nearest to him; it didn't offer too much light, because he'd dimmed it down low the last time they'd stayed up watching movies. But it casted a soft orange glow in the few feet around it, and it shooed away a tiny amount of dark around them. Shaun's chest was impossibly tight when Glassman looked at him— actually looked at him. He beamed. "You slept all day," he announced. "You fell down the stairs. I've increased your morphine to try and help…" The last word died a bit on its way out. It didn't quite fit, in the scenario.

Glassman didn't say anything; his eyes closed again for a second, before they reopened.

Shaun weakened. "I was worried," he went on quietly. "I thought you wouldn't wake up." The confession slipped his tongue before he could stomp on the brakes. Only once it left him did he realize that it might not be very tactful. Quickly, he turned to the box of medication, hoping Glassman hadn't picked up on the implication. "I can give you another dose of morphine," he continued. "And if you want Tramadol, I have a glass of water for you." That pill was a 'on-needed' basis more than it was on a schedule. It Glassman was in pain and wished it to be dulled, Tramadol was always on the table to be taken.

Glassman actually replied to this, and the relief that shook Shaun as a result nearly made him collapse. "Yeah…" It was a tiny rasp; he was dehydrated. As he stood and made for the oral dispensers again, he made a mental note to run downstairs and fetch one of the tiny protein drinks that he had there. Glassman had commented before that they tasted awful, but they were more than needed. He could try and bribe some down his throat, if he could.

Shaun got one of the last few syringes that still had morphine in them – he had to get more, he just hadn't wanted to leave – and out of habit after the night he'd had, he just gave him the medicine without asking whether or not he wanted to do it himself first. Glassman didn't argue though, or even point this out. He just swallowed it down, and when Shaun turned and switched out the dispenser for a tiny pill and the glass of water, he took that too. He didn't choke on anything, and so Shaun took his chair again with a comforted exhale. It had just been a bad day. Nothing more. Today would be better. It would mark the beginning of their uphill.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, seeing Glassman was staying awake now. "Are you in pain?"

"Mm…no…" he murmured. He was looking at Shaun fully now, and his eyes were getting softer and softer. "I'm just tired…" Shaun told himself that that was normal. He didn't need to worry about that. A smile tugged at Glassman's lips. He gave a tiny laugh. "…Haven't seen you in a while," he mumbled. "I missed you…"

Shaun decided he was joking to try and deter away from what had happened.

Maybe that was okay. They were overlooking everything else, after all.

He wasn't sure what to say, though, so Shaun just stood, instead. He excused himself with the same promise of a fast return he always gave, and he went downstairs to get the other box of morphine and the protein drink. He rushed back and tried to ignore the uneasy feeling he got when he ran up the steps. He put it out of his mind, and he just kept going all the way back to Glassman's room. He sat on the edge of his bed and gave him the drink. He was able to take it from him and drink it himself, so Shaun moved to turn the TV on. If for nothing else, just for some background noise.

It took a while for Glassman to drink the entire box, even though it was relatively small. Shaun waited with patience, and when he was finished, he took it back to throw it away. "Claire and Jared came to help me, last night," he announced, sitting back now to just be by him. To try and fully register the fact he was conscious again. "I…moved my things into here." He glanced down at the floor, where his blanket was still a mess. "I was worried something else would happen, and I wouldn't be here to help you." Glassman didn't say anything, but he was still looking at Shaun warmly. "Lea texted me…I didn't know what to tell her." It slipped out before he could stop it. "I didn't…know what to tell Claire, either, when she asked if she could stay. Because I wanted her to…but I don't know what to…" His forehead creased. Words failed him. Again.

"I don't know what to tell anyone," he said eventually, turning so he could search Glassman's face.

Glassman said nothing, but Shaun could see a tiny wince come over his face. He gave a little nod. "I'll get you a cold towel," he offered, rising off the bed and making for the bathroom. He let a washcloth rinse underneath the sink, and he wrung it out so it was damp. And he came back, sitting down and leaning over to press it gently against his forehead. He was hot— it didn't seem to be a fever yet, just overheating. Which made sense; he was under about five blankets. Maybe he could persuade a few off of him, sometime soon.

He allowed silence back into the room again. At least this time it was a more comfortable quiet to sit in. He just dabbed at Glassman's forehead, and eventually folded the towel and laid it over his head. He was just beginning to take his hands back to himself, when Glassman spoke again. "You're here…" His voice was soft and affectionate; it sounded different, though. The smile over his face was almost teary. Shaun stiffened a little bit when the older man reached over and took gentle hold of his arm. "It's so nice you're here," he breathed.

Shaun's nerves were beginning to fray and wear on themselves. But when he looked at him, he tried his best to ignore the fact, and just smile. He didn't know what he was meaning. It went right over his head. He was probably confused. "I never left," he replied, trying to figure out what would be best to say. "I've been right here." He weakened, and his expression grew a little more pained. "I wouldn't leave you," he pledged, and this promise came out in nothing more than a rasp, and with a tiny bit of difficulty.

"Nn— you did…but that's alright. It doesn't matter." Shaun deflated, confused as he just looked at the other. Glassman's hand was still holding onto the crook of his elbow. He didn't have the heart to take it away from him, and he didn't have the heart to ask him what he was talking about either. He just stayed still and stayed silent, but he almost wished he didn't when the old man went on. He smiled and looked at Shaun as if it was the first time he was laying eyes on him. But at the same time, his gaze held a sense of fogginess and distance that was starting to make a dreadful kind of sense. "I thought…" Whatever he was going to say was lost to an exhale.

A sense of foreboding opened up in the pit of Shaun's stomach. Ages seemed to pass in silence that was tenser, now. Shaun wilted, and he ducked his head a bit, before he moved to gently take Glassman's hand away from him. He put it down lightly on the mattress, instead. "You're probably very hungry," he murmured, his voice more drawn. "You haven't had anything to eat for a long time." Shaun knew he was absolutely starving; he needed to make sure Glassman wasn't feeling the same pangs. "I can get you something."

Glassman smiled a little blearily. Shaun started to get up to his feet so he could go down to the kitchen and make something fast like he usually did. Scrambled eggs, probably— it would only take a few minutes to do that, and it was easy on the stomach, as long as he didn't put anything else in it. But just as he was about to push himself up, he absolutely froze. Even the blood in his veins chilled over. In barely a rasp, Glassman murmured: "Thank you, Maddie…"

Shaun blinked fast— nearly fifteen times. He sat back on the bed, and he turned to look at him, his expression a mixture of shock, confusion, and worry. His eyes flickered to the wall, to a photo of the girl in question. She was beaming back at him, a laugh playing on her lips and a mischievous glint lighting up her eyes. She seemed to find the scene hilarious. Shaun had to swallow back the sick lump in his throat. His response came out small and unsure. "I'm…not Maddie," he reminded, hesitant. "I'm Shaun. Shaun Murphy."

There was no recognition on Glassman's face. His eyes were closing, again, and he just hummed. The way a parent might hum if their child was trying to tell them something they didn't care about at all. Shaun's stomach lurched. "Doctor Glassman?" he asked. It was getting impossible to keep his voice from wavering. The hope that had begun to build in his chest was now crumbling, and he was trying not to crumble right alongside it. "It's Shaun," he tried again. "You remember me…right?"

There was nothing. He got nothing. Glassman's eyes stayed closed, and he just hummed again. Shaun found he couldn't move, and that he was rooted in place where he sat beside him. He didn't know what to do. He had read every medical textbook he could ever get his hands on. He had taken every course in medical school, and he had passed with flying colors. He had run simulations and he had started a residency. He had done his research, and he had studied. He'd done everything a doctor was required to do in order to prepare themselves as much as they could for whatever they were to face.

But nothing had prepared him for this.

The bone-chilling, harrowing feeling of losing something faster than he was willing to let go of them.

The feeling that, although there was less than a foot's distance between him and Glassman, they were miles and miles away from each other, and only drifting farther.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"The nurse mentioned Emily's House," Shaun declared, the announcement coming out dull and lifeless. He stared down at the table top and tried not to look at Claire or Jared's face. He already knew the pity and sympathy that would be there, and he didn't want any of it. He was sick of seeing it, by now. He just focused on listening to the device that was plugged into the wall off to the side, and the soft background noise it was emitting. Claire had brought the baby monitor when she and Jared had come by after work. They'd set it up no problem.

This way, Shaun could hear what was going on in Glassman's room even when he was down here preparing oral dispensers, or cooking. It had been her idea, and Shaun had been able to tell she was only wanting to help. But he hadn't been able to hide the deep sorrow and regret that had been brewing in his stomach when he'd set up the link that usually parents needed just to make sure their infant was alright. It felt wrong, and it still did. It had practicality, but screw practicality— it didn't matter.

He should start a list of everything that didn't. It would probably be about a mile long.

"Already?" Jared asked, unable to keep the question contained. He seemed guilty at the glare Claire shot him, but there was no taking it back. Not that he would; the reaction was a valid one.

Shaun nodded once. The nurse had broached the topic when she'd come this evening to give Glassman a bath. It was two days now, since he had fallen, and he was still more out of sorts than usual. He wasn't mistaking Shaun for Maddie as much— or at least, he wasn't saying her name anymore, or telling Shaun he was relieved to see him. He wasn't saying much of anything, anymore. Mostly he just hazed in between actual awareness and unconsciousness. He looked on with the expression of someone who wasn't really paying much mind to what was being put in front of their face. His replies to any questions or comments Shaun tried to offer him would be muffled and muted. Hardly there.

The woman (Shaun didn't even know her name— or maybe he just refused to learn it in the first place) had broached the topic delicately. With the delicacy they had been taught in medical school to deliver bad news. News about death, or tragedy, or something else just as horrible. It had been contrasted with a bright smile, and the grin was enough to set Shaun's teeth on edge. Why fake a smile? Why put on a grin when you were talking about sending someone to a place even less equipped to help people than this was? A step even lower than hospice, that just enacted a waiting game? To just make him comfortable enough to die?

"I told her no," he mumbled, studying the grain of the tabletop. His shoulders curled inward a bit.

Claire's eyes flickered between her two friends briefly, before they zeroed in on Shaun. He didn't meet her gaze, but he seemed to wilt even more under the weight of her gaze. "Emily's House is a good facility," she tried, desperately wanting to comfort him in any way she possibly could. "Have you ever been?" Regret flickered over her face as soon as she asked this. It was like she was asking if he'd ever been to Disneyland. Which was probably as polar opposite from Emily's House as you could get. Nevertheless, she went on. "It's got plenty of capable nurses…the rooms are absolutely wonderful. There's anything you would need there, too, and…you know, there are counselors there. That you could talk to if you needed."

Shaun glanced at her, and the look on his face was enough to silence her. "I don't want to talk to anybody," he refuted, a little coldly. She bit down on her lower lip, looking mournful. She said nothing. Shaun looked a little accusingly down at the ground, instead. "I can take care of Glassman, here," he pressed. "He doesn't need to go anywhere else. He just needs to stay here with me. Patients who are sent to Emily's House are never there for more than twenty-four hours. Glassman has more than twenty-four hours."

Claire and Jared glanced at one another. They didn't have to speak to communicate to the other what they were thinking. It was written all over their faces. Jared was the one to turn back to Shaun though, and try his hand, now. "Is he doing any better?" he asked. His voice was surprisingly even. When she looked at Shaun, even Claire found difficulty in not letting her sympathy ooze out. But Jared was asking this as if they were just discussing a patient. Maybe she should take a page from his book, though, because when he did, Shaun looked over at him and responded.

"He isn't as confused as he was," Shaun rushed to reassure. "But…he is tired most of the time. His breathing gets shallow more frequently. He doesn't hold conversation, like he did before he fell…" He paused, his expression fracturing in pain. Before he seemed to shake it off and move on, when he said more firmly: "I'm not giving up on him."

Jared digested this. He looked at him a little carefully, and he chose his words just as much so when he next spoke. "Shaun…you're smart." Claire flashed him a warning look, to stop him in his tracks. But Jared wasn't paying any mind. "Sometimes, you're the smartest one out of all of us. I know that you're more than capable of seeing medical signs when they're in front of you. You can diagnose things with your eyes closed. So I know I don't have to tell you the prognosis."

He blinked. He weakened, but didn't duck away. Jared went on. "And I also know that you're smart enough to know that things can't keep going the way they are for much longer. That, if it comes to it, maybe Emily's House is just the best thing for him. It's not like you can't go there, too. It's not like you won't be able to be with him, there." That wasn't Shaun's point, and Jared knew that. "When that day comes, you need to be able to let him go, and know it's what's best. Maybe that's now, maybe it's not. But until then…maybe you need to realize you can't keep doing this alone."

Shaun fidgeted. A small noise died in the back of his throat, and he averted his eyes again.

"Asking for help isn't something to be ashamed of, Shaun," Claire murmured, trying to help. "It just shows that you have enough confidence in your friends to offer support. And that's what we want to offer you." She paused, waiting for him to say something. He didn't. "It doesn't have to be much, Shaun, just let us do as much as we can. We can…bring over dinner, we can take a few nights off your hands— you can have a full night's sleep, for once!" It certainly looked like he had slept more than seven hours in the last two weeks. "Maybe Emily's House is an inevitability," she murmured, a little sadder. "But until then, we want to help you. We want to be there for you, because you're our friend."

Shaun still looked down at the intricate woodwork of the table. She suspected his eyes were welling with tears, and he was just trying to hide it. She pushed herself off the kitchen counter, and she walked over to him. Her eyebrows were pulled together in worry and concern. "Let us help you more, Shaun," she pleaded, and he hunched over, as if the words were there to inflict pain. "Or…do you want to be alone?" she hedged, after a heartbeat's uncertainty.

That question seemed to do it. Shaun hunched over even more, and his lips shook where they pressed together. His eyes filled with even more water, and the fact that he shut them tightly to try and hide the fact only made it that much more obvious. When he managed to speak, his voice was clenched. "No," he got out. Claire was stricken at just how quickly his foundation had crumbled away. His shoulders were shaking up and down, and she could barely hear the cries that were bottled in the back of his throat. "No, I don't want to be alone," he croaked, hardly able to get it out.

Claire's own walls broke down, and she pulled out the chair next to him, her heart torn as she scooted closer. She reached over to put a hand down gently on his shoulder, knowing he didn't like much pressure. But this was just an attempt by her to make him see that she was right beside him. That he wasn't by himself. Not in any of this. "Then you won't be," she soothed. "You won't be, Shaun; we'll be here for whatever you need. We'll stay here, even, if you want— we can stay on the couches. Nothing else matters right now, but this." Jared said nothing, but he was standing in silent agreement. After the awakening they'd had the other night, and after seeing just how much Shaun was suffering with all of this, nothing needed to be discussed. They'd do anything.

Shaun didn't shrug out from Claire's hand, but he did duck his head and hide his face away in his hands. His shoulders shook more, and Claire grimaced when she heard him gasp and sniff. And when she heard him repeat brokenly: "I don't want to be alone…"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Cheater!"

"What!? No! I'm not cheating! I resent the accusation, and I simply won't stand for it."

"You can only put down one card at a time, Jared; this is like the fifth time I've told you!" Claire snapped.

"Okay, the first three times were on accident," Jared hummed, looking at the deck of cards he held.

Claire scowled and picked up the card he'd tried to sneak down with the others, jabbing it back to him. "I'm not going to play if you keep cheating, I'm going to quit," she huffed.

"I don't even know the rules— in fact, I forgot the name of this game ten minutes ago."

"It's Crazy Eights," Shaun informed in more of a sigh than anything else. He was sitting in his usual spot on Glassman's bed, where he wouldn't be in the way of things. He was down to three cards; he was closest any of them were to actually winning and ending this game finally. They'd been going strong for an hour, now, which was saying something for a game like this. He didn't even know why they were still dragging this out. Until he heard Glassman laugh a little beside him, and he turned to see that the old man was smiling. Then his stomach tightened with relief and something else, and he remembered.

"Maybe we should switch to Poker," Glassman commented, in his raspy voice they had to strain to hear. But, raspy as it was, it was there nevertheless, and that was enough. Shaun had been right; it had just taken a while to be proven so. Ups and downs. Sharp, steep ups and downs, but ups and downs they were. Glassman was doing better today. He ate an entire piece of toast, before the effort had winded him. It was a small success, but Shaun was willing to take it, and take it as eagerly as any piece of news could be swallowed. He had his wits about him, and when Shaun had asked if he remembered anything from these last few days, Glassman had said no.

Shaun had decided he wouldn't tell him.

Claire's eyes flashed mischievously. "Oooh, Poker would be fun," she gushed, and immediately Shaun started to deflate like a balloon. He had played Monopoly with these two. When money got involved in games, both of them might as well have turned into cutthroat enemies. And that was just pretend money. What would happen to them when real dollars were thrown into the mix? Claire turned and flashed a smirk in Glassman's direction. "You want to lose all your money?" she quipped. "I am an expert— that game got me through medical school."

"I'll call that bluff," Jared announced, throwing his cards down on the tiny table Shaun had set up for this. Just for curiosity's sake, which was nearly unending when it came to Shaun, the young doctor leaned a bit forward so he could catch a glimpse of the hand Jared had been holding. Half of his cards were eights, and Shaun fought the urge to slam his head down on the table. He really hadn't known the rules, then. After more than forty minutes of playing. "You're going down. You're both going down." Jared looked at Glassman and did the 'I'm Watching You' gesture. "Don't think I'll go easy on you, old man, I'll take you for every penny you've got."

Shaun started to bristle, just the tiniest bit. When, to his surprise, the threat caused Glassman to burst into another tiny fit of laughter. A smile bridged over his face, and he shook his head. "Okay," he coughed. He was still smiling. Shaun found that he didn't want to look away from him. That, almost in a way, he couldn't. He looked happy. Maybe he didn't look like his old self, back when they were at work together, but he was grinning, and his expression was soft. It wasn't foggy and disoriented, and he was able to react to things again. He knew Shaun was, well, himself, and not Maddie. For a while, Shaun had thought that the end was close— days away, or even hours. But now, looking at him, he could hope again, for more. For weeks, even months, if he tried hard enough.

Glassman seemed to register that he was being stared at, because he turned. When he looked at Shaun, the younger was grateful that his smile didn't leave. It just got a bit gentler. "What is it, Shaun?" he asked, and once again, he was relieved at the correct name. At the recognition in the old man's eyes, and the affection that was there as well. Affection that actually belonged to him.

When Shaun didn't reply, and only stared, swamped in this respite and happiness, he asked again, chuckling a little bit: "What?"

. . . .

Shaun rushed down the steps, taking them two at a time. He nearly fell over himself, and careened down the second half. But he caught his slip at the very last second, and just grabbed the banister to all but whip himself around to keep running. The flurry of his footsteps must have been alarm enough for Glassman, because when the young man rushed into the kitchen, his head was snapped up, his eyes a little wider than normal. Shaun elected to ignore the alarm for now. He had more important matters to discuss. "It's Salmonella!" he cheered, practically radiating with pride and excitement. He skidded to a stop before he could smack into the counter, which was good, because it was loaded with cranberry sauce, right about now.

Glassman stared at him oddly, before he looked back down at the turkey he was trying to prepare. His alarm didn't lessen. "No, it's— Shaun, I just bought this—"

"N- for my class!" he objected, not even letting him finish. Glassman went silent, and Shaun lifted up his lab textbook to show it to him, the wide grin never faltering on his face. "For my microbiology class, my lab final is to identify an unknown species of bacteria. I've been reviewing all the tests I performed, and I've narrowed it down. It's Salmonella typhimurium! I'm sure of it! It…had a gram-positive cell wall; when I did the Gram Stain, I—"

"Shaun, Thanksgiving Break is meant to be a break!" Glassman protested. Shaun blinked, and turned the book around so he could look at its pages again. At his marks along the chart he had just freshly glanced over before he made this rushed announcement. He seemed unsure. "You're supposed to be relaxing from school, and that includes microbiology. You work hard enough as it is! You should take some time to yourself!" It still didn't seem like Shaun's cup of tea. Glassman smiled in a bit of exasperation, but his voice was gentle when he tried: "How about you set that down and help me cook? You always help me cook on Thanksgiving— now you're leaving me high and dry."

Shaun agonized, his eyes flickering between his lab book and the turkey. He hesitated, and Glassman waited for him to come to his own conclusion. And he did, but unfortunately, that conclusion was only to rush on and completely dismiss whatever he'd just said. "Look!" he protested, and his eyes gleamed once more. His face was nearly splitting, his smile was so big. Glassman sighed, but did not object. "I checked off all the experiments. The Litmus Milk reaction was alkaline, and the Citrate test was negative! It ruled out Clostridium Botulinum, and I knew I didn't have E. Coli because E. Coli is Gram-Negative, and my bacteria wasn't rod-shaped, either. The girl who sits next to me had E. Coli, but she cultured her sample on a Gram-Positive plate, and mostly she was just crying because it didn't grow. I was going to tell her she made a mistake, but we were told we couldn't help anyone else or it would be classified as cheating." He tilted his head to the side. "So I don't have E. Coli, because she got sample D and I had sample C."

Glassman cracked a grin now, looking over his work and all the furiously-scribbled notes in the margins. "I see," he mused, his eyes going back to him. "And you think you did it all right? You didn't think you messed up a test? Switched the samples? A final grade is pretty important, you don't want to have made a mistake." His voice was light and teasing.

Shaun was undeterred. He was filling up the entire kitchen with his excitement. His smile grew, and laughter edged his next words. "I'm positive!" he chirped. "There's no other explanation for what my sample could be, so I know it's this! All I have left to do is write a report over my findings and defend my explanation, but the test results are all there!" He said this like it was equivalent of winning the lottery. Which, in a way, at least to him, it kind of was. He beamed down at his chart, more than satisfied. "It's Salmonella typhimurium," he repeated, with a nod. "A bacteria strain that can cause muscle weakness, pain in the abdominal area, fatigue, bloating, vomiting, headache, rash, d—"

The symptoms were rolling off his tongue with ease, when he turned a bit and realized Glassman was looking at him now, a little oddly. He stopped short, turning doubtful. He was looking at him with pride— that wasn't an entirely uncommon thing, and Shaun picked up on it easily. It was the same look he'd had when he'd walked the stage at high school graduation, or when he got accepted into the university he'd applied to. What he didn't understand was…the rest of it. There was something else in the way he was looking at him, and Shaun wasn't really able to pinpoint what it was. It was strange.

It looked like the way Steve used to look at him. But not, at the same time. Different, somehow.

He stuttered, and, out of sheer habit, began to withdraw back into himself. "What?" he asked, the topic slipping his mind now. He pulled the book towards his chest, like it was a shield. His expression grew wary, and Glassman stirred a bit, like he wasn't even aware of what was going on himself. The kitchen was suddenly annoyingly quiet. When Glassman didn't reply, Shaun glanced at his book, wondering if something was wrong and the other was just trying not to laugh at it. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked. "Did I…do something wrong?"

"Something—?" Glassman cut himself off, and he shook his head. "No, no, Shaun, you— you didn't…" He hesitated, and when Shaun eyed him oddly, he only sighed. He offered him a smile, and this one was more like the ones Shaun was used to receiving from him. "I'm not looking at you in— in any kind of way. It's— it's nothing, Shaun. No, you're perfectly fine. It looks like it all checks out; I'm proud of you. And I'm glad you're going to get a one hundred on your lab final." Shaun was still skeptical, but it wasn't really like him to pick at an issue once it was resolved. Even if he had no idea what had made Glassman look at him like that. "Here. If you're done, put that book down and help me cook," Glassman said, his voice bracing as he shoved off into another topic, to leave this one far behind.

Shaun stared at him for a couple more seconds, before he resolved to put it out of his mind. He put his lab book down where it wouldn't get in the way or get anything on it, and he went back to Glassman's side, forgetting the weird look as he replaced it instead with measurements and cooking procedures.

It probably wasn't important, anyway.

. . . .

"Shaun?"

He blinked, shaking himself as he realized he was still staring at Glassman. Claire and Jared were pretending not to notice; Jared was drawing out the process of shuffling the cards, and Claire was suddenly interested in scrolling through her old text messages. Once Shaun came back to himself and looked up, he saw that Glassman's eyebrows were pulled together in concern. Once they met eyes again, Glassman tried to offer a weak smile. "You okay?" he asked, his voice matching his expression as he searched his face.

Shaun looked down at himself, as if an answer was there. He looked back up, and tried to offer a smile. It probably didn't come across as assured as he'd wanted it to. "It's nothing," he offered, wishing that the response was closer to the truth. Either Glassman didn't care any more to prod out the truth, or he just didn't find it necessary right now, but the old man turned after a moment to their new card game. He seemed more than capable of switching gears. But Shaun found, even as he got his hand and saw that it was a pretty good start to a Poker game, that he couldn't manage such a feat, himself.

That the relief and happiness he'd felt before, in looking at Glassman, was quickly decaying.

That he couldn't put things out of his mind as easily as he had so many years ago.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Shaun didn't realize what song was playing until the words actually started. He didn't like music, but he was pretty good at immediately realizing what was playing. Now, though, he was more distracted. All morning he had been leafing through legal papers, trying to force himself to read some of the arrangements he knew he would eventually be forced to carry through with. It turned his stomach to even look at the packet, so reading it all was slow-going, and it had taken all day so far. He was sitting in his usual chair at Glassman's bedside when the words finally broke through the instrumental. And once they did, he looked up at once.

'Can we be there? Oh, just think of the time. Thought a love so strange, said you never knew.'

Oh. Shaun's grip on the papers tightened ever so slightly, wrinkling the stack. He turned and looked over to Glassman. He'd fallen asleep a while ago, which was why Shaun had taken the opportunity to get all these forms out in the first place. Even when he'd fallen asleep, though, Shaun hadn't turned off the music. The night before, he had stayed up until two in the morning making a playlist on Spotify of all of Glassman's favorite songs. When he'd turned it on this morning to show him, after Claire and Jared left for work, the old man's face had lit up. He'd looked so happy. So Shaun had wanted the list to be playing for him still when he woke up.

He had been doing his best to block out the music himself. Which was part of the reason why he hadn't realized that this specific song was playing now, until the fact was staring him in the face. Hearing the words brought a weight to press down on his chest, and he found himself having to choke back a swallow. He didn't move to turn off his phone, or disconnect it from the stereo. He didn't move to walk out of the room. He couldn't do anything but sit there and stare at Glassman, who was oblivious to everything else. To how skinny his face had gotten, and how ashen his skin seemed to have paled. How small he was, when before, Shaun had thought of him as the strongest person on the face on this planet.

'I know that some will say…it matters but little babe. Aw, but come on and mean it to me. I need it so bad.'

. . . .

'I needed to try! I needed to fall! I needed your love, I'm burnin' away, I need never get old.'

Outside the windows, flickered hills of grass and trees. Usually Shaun would be looking out the window and watching it all bleed past. But now he was looking straight down, his nose buried away in a book. In his lap was a scattering of papers, that jostled and bounced with every bump in the road, or turn of the car. He was trying not to let it all collapse everywhere. But he wasn't about to put it all away. He just wanted to study; if he had it his way, he would never have gotten in this car in the first place.

The reason he was in this car was sitting to his left. Glassman looked over at him and flashed him a smile. He leaned over and turned down the radio more, so that the instrumental break faded more into the background. "'I need never get old,'" he repeated. "That's my motto in life, I think." Shaun glanced up from his textbook to look over at him, but he said nothing. He tucked back into his studying, and Glassman sighed, his smile growing a bit more strained. "Shaun, I told you, you don't have to study nearly as much as you think you do. Maybe other kids in your class do, but you're perfectly fine." Shaun was still silent. Glassman sighed again. "You're always too hard on yourself, Shaun. I meant for this drive to help."

Shaun kept his eyes trained on the words in front of him. "I need to study," he pressed, after a pause. "My test in three days; if I don't study every day until then I'm not using my time wisely. I can ride in a car anytime. I can only take this test once. So this is more important." This, in his humble opinion, should have been enough to curb any argument that was left. Apparently, it wasn't; Shaun wilted in irritation when Glassman went on.

"Shaun, trust me when I tell you that you will pass this test with just as much flying colors as you've passed every other test before this. I was a student just like you, I worried just like you did. I had sleepless nights that turned out to be for nothing, because it was perfectly fine…I know what I'm talking about when I give you advice. Please just put your book down, for an hour. Just take an hour to do something other than…isolate yourself and read the same passage over again for the eighth time."

Shaun didn't push his book aside. But he did lift his eyes, albeit reluctantly. Silence filled the car, and the quiet instrumental was left to reign. After a second of this, Glassman tried a different route of conversation. "You've…have you started to apply for residencies, yet?" he asked, and something in his voice changed when he asked this.

"Yes," Shaun replied. "I…applied to three."

Another tiny hesitation. Before Glassman said quietly: "I don't want you to apply for any more."

'Taking our time. Ah, just standing in the rain. Meaning what you said…ah, and mean it to me.'

Shaun looked at him now with confusion. He had to apply, to any place he could. Every place he could. His instructors had said it over and over again, so that it was all but drilled into his head. To stop after just a measly three? "Why?" he asked, suddenly feeling a sinking sensation in his stomach. "Do you…think I shouldn't be a surgeon?" Glassman had been his biggest…well, his only supporter in his desire to eventually become a doctor. Nobody else, besides Steve, had ever even entertained his wish. Every new professor he got usually overlooked him until after the first test. And even then, a few had pulled him into their office and accused him of cheating. His Anatomy II professor had created an entirely new test and forced him to take that by himself under supervision. Only to stare dumbfoundedly at yet another 100%.

If Glassman was going to tell him he couldn't do it too…

"No! No, no, of course not! Of course I don't think that!" Glassman blustered, and Shaun reluctantly started to relax. "No, it's just— I…want you at my hospital." He glanced at him, maybe to gauge his reaction. But Shaun didn't have much of one to see. Glassman turned back to the road. His voice was soft, now. "I…would like to formally invite you to work at St. Bonaventure." The music continued to play, and Shaun continued to just look at him, like he wasn't able to comprehend English. Glassman cleared his throat. "I think we would be worlds better off with you working there. It would be an honor and a privilege to have you. So…if you would be willing to move to California…I would be willing to give you a job."

When Shaun managed to reply, he was reluctant. "Can you do that?" he asked.

"I'm the president of the hospital," he replied evenly.

Shaun blinked. He looked down at his lap, but not to read anything. Just to stare. Eventually, he mumbled: "Am I wanted, there?"

"I don't care." The reply was instant. "I don't care at all if every other staff member of importance is against me, Shaun; I'll fight them. I'll fight each and every one of them, to get you in my hospital. Because I know you can do so much more than they think you can. Maybe even more than you think you can." He looked at him again, and Shaun was ready to meet his gaze if only for a brief moment. But it was all it took. In that brief moment, Glassman smiled, his eyes going gentle when Shaun's puzzled look remained. "I don't care if they don't want you there," he pressed. "Because I want you there."

. . . .

'I said I needed to try! Needed to fall! I needed your love, I'm burnin' away, I need never get old!'

When Shaun roused out of his stupor, he realized his eyes were blurred with tears. He swallowed again, and he blinked, clearing his vision some but suffering the repercussion of feeling some of the hot water trail down his face. He tore his gaze away from Glassman, whose chest was barely rising in soft and sharpened gasps, even in sleep. He looked instead back down at the papers. Papers about life insurance and hospital payments and funeral arrangements and other scary words that made him want to just tear it all up into shreds.

Shaun set them all aside. He turned instead to scoot his chair closer to Glassman. Cautiously, he reached out and put his hand down over Glassman's, which was resting limp on the mattress. He hesitated only a heartbeat or so before he wrapped his hand around his. He didn't anticipate anything happening as a consequence; so when Glassman's eyes flickered open and he turned to look at him, Shaun stiffened just a little bit. He was almost tempted to pull away. But he didn't.

Glassman still seemed half-asleep. But when he looked down at his hand, and when he felt the tiny pressure, a smile traced worn and affectionate over his face. Shaun had seen that exact smile before. He had seen it on Steve's face, time and again, but especially whenever he had leaned over to ruffle his hair. He had seen it a couple of times, but only rarely, on his mother's face as well, though it had been tinged with a certain kind of sorrow and regret, whenever it did show up. Here on Glassman's face, there was no sorrow. Only love. All of the sorrow was reserved for Shaun, to be on his own expression— to aid the tears that fell down the sides of his face. The way his lips shook violently as they were forced into a pinched grin.

Once Glassman could, he turned his hand so he could hold his as well, and squeeze just a little tighter.

The pressure didn't bother Shaun at all.

'I need never get old…I need never get old…I need never get old…'

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Today was a bad day. Mostly, they were bad days now. Shaun had decided they needed a subcategory of bad days, to differentiate between those, and he had taken it upon himself to put such in action. Today was a bad day, yes, but on a scale of one to ten, it was only a seven. Yesterday, it had been a nine, and he had been strung-out with every passing hour. He was still exhausted from all the pacing, all the muttering and grumbling and rushing here and there trying to keep everything together. Claire had come to stay the night after her shift, and she had sat up with Shaun, despite her having to go into work the next day. They had stayed awake together until three in the morning at the kitchen table, the baby monitor stationed between them as they just listened for something to happen. She had made hot chocolate, and she had put more marshmallows in his cup than she'd put in hers. She had told him everything would be okay, and she had told him that even when…it happened, she would still be here for him. That that would never change.

She had been nice. It just hadn't meant anything.

So today was a bad day, but it was a little bit less of one, and Shaun was willing to take it. He was grasping at straws, now, just because there was nothing else left to do. He had been giving Glassman morphine on the hour, and he had been forced to up the dosage. He had replaced his cannula with an oxygen mask, because the cannula hadn't been enough the past three days. He had increased his oxygen levels; now they were up to seventeen. Way past where they should be. It ran a serious risk for carbon dioxide poisoning, but without it turned so high, Glassman would gasp and choke, and Shaun couldn't bear it. He would just have to watch him closer.

What he was doing wasn't helping, but he didn't have a choice.

Now, he was sitting on Glassman's bed, his legs folded neatly. He was turned around so that he could look over at the wall, at the photos that were posted there of the two of them. His expression was blank, as his eyes flickered over each photograph. Glassman was sleeping, and between checking to make sure he was still breathing, Shaun was busying himself by trying to remember every detail that had been behind each snapshot.

. . . .

"Shaun, you don't have to keep trying, you really don't," Glassman said, his voice trembling in the effort not to laugh.

"I want to do a handstand," Shaun insisted, out of breath. He raised his arms up for the millionth time, and he threw himself down to once again try and keep himself balanced. And again, all that happened was he used too much force. All that happened was he catapulted himself right onto the floor, and he slammed down onto his back. Winded and stricken, he stared up at the ceiling, registering his failure and scowling. Behind him, he heard something that sounded suspiciously like a photo being taken.

. . . .

His eyes widened; he looked at the mountain of presents, more than unsure, before he turned to Glassman, who was standing behind him. His hands wrung in front of him, out of bad habit. "Are…all of those for me?" he asked, skeptical. He'd never received anything like this for his birthday, ever. Usually he got one or two things, and whatever celebration that was had was mostly spurred on by Steve. This year, he had fully expected just…nothing. He hadn't even started to consider the notion that Glassman might do anything for him. Now, he was looking at about fifty gifts all wrapped for him and waiting. The cake on the table looked like it could serve twenty people. There were balloons, and a banner for him that exclaimed 'Happy Birthday, Shaun!' It was nothing like he thought it would be.

"Of course," Glassman replied. "You only turn fifteen once!" He hesitated, then, and his smile dropped just a little bit. When he spoke, his voice was a little more reserved. "Do you like it?" he hedged. "Do you…think it's too much? I wasn't sure, I…just thought maybe…" He looked concerned, now.

Shaun was quiet. He looked between Glassman, and the decorations, before a smile began to worm over his face. "Yes," he murmured, and Glassman immediately roused. "I like it. …Thank you."

He smiled as well. "Of course," he repeated, just as sincere. "You're very welcome, Shaun. Here— why don't you stand over there? I can take your picture."

. . . .

"Did you know there's no definite proof that every snowflake is different?" Shaun asked, hoisting up the snowball he'd been rolling along the ground and getting on his toes to put it on top of the others. He smiled in satisfaction at the perfectly-built snowman. Three circles each stacked accordingly, with painstaking care on his part. He turned and looked at Glassman, who was standing by and cradling everything else they needed in his arms. The scarf and the carrot and little rocks they'd picked up around the yard they could fashion into eyes and a mouth.

"Really?" Glassman asked, frowning a bit as he stepped closer to their creation. Shaun nodded once and he gingerly plucked up the scarf, moving so he could arrange it neatly around the sculpture's neck. With just as much precision as he'd used to stack, he made sure the scarf wasn't out of place in any way. From there he could stick the carrot in the center of the top snowball. "Hm. That's a little disappointing."

"Why is it disappointing?" Shaun asked, brushing some of the lose snow off, to keep it perfect.

"Well…" Glassman started to outline the smile. "I don't know. It's kind of a nice thought to have…that every single one is different." He glanced up to the snow that was still falling. "That even though there are millions of them, not a single one is the same. And to know that people think it's a good thing, to have such differences exist. That it's celebrated." Shaun faltered, blinking as he followed Glassman's lead to look at the flakes. "Sometimes people…well, they tend to think that differences are a bad thing. But they love the fact that each snowflake is individual. It makes you hope that maybe…in time…they'll come around on other things, too."

Shaun's face fell. He turned back at the snowman, to see Glassman had finished putting it together. Now, it was complete. His head tilted to the side. "Why do people like it when snowflakes are different…but not people?" the young boy asked. Glassman looked at him, but Shaun purposefully avoided his gaze. "That's not fair."

"It's not," Glassman replied, a little softly. He seemed saddened. "It's not fair at all." Shaun wilted. Visibly upset, he looked down at the snow that was between his boots. Seeing this, Glassman's eyes narrowed briefly before he smiled and leaned down more to look at him. "But that's their own fault," he pointed out, and Shaun glanced a him dubiously. "They can think whatever way they want…we'll know that they're wrong. Or…you'll know that they're wrong, and you can tell me, like you just did. And I'll always be right behind you." He gave him a wink, and his smile grew. Shaun figured it was good enough, and he nodded once. "Now," the man swept on. "We've just built the single greatest snowman that's ever been made in the great state of Wyoming." He reached back into his pocket and pulled out his camera. Shaun grinned. "I think it's worth some documentation, don't you?"

. . . .

Shaun had the tiniest hint of a smile on his face as he recalled each one. There were some that he couldn't track down. Those he would come back to, because he was certain he wouldn't be able to rest until he did manage to recall them. But for now, it was nice to just sit here and think about the memories he did have. To drag them back to the forefront of his mind, and keep them closer to his heart now. He didn't want them to fade back into a consciousness that was barely there. So he hung onto each one, and between each one, he turned to look at Glassman and make sure he was still…there.

He was exhausted. It was going on 1:30 in the morning, but he was hesitant to sleep. After the late night Claire had had before, she was taking the night off tonight. Jared was stuck at work carrying out some task Melendez needed done. So Shaun was all alone, and he was more than hesitant to sleep. Even though his things were still right by Glassman's bed, like they'd been every night since that fall. His eyes were stinging from lack of sleep, and every so often the room tilted and swirled just a bit.

He was doing well, though. He could manage a few more hours. Maybe sleep for three hours, and he could probably stretch that into something more than it was. It was getting easier and easier to function without rest, now. He reached up and rubbed at his face, to hopefully banish the dragging feeling that was pulling at him. He was just about to turn and make another check on Glassman, when Glassman's voice actually cut through the silence. "What're you doing?" His tone was conversational. Like they were just shooting the breeze.

Shaun turned to see that he was looking at him— really, looking at him. There was more focus in his eyes than had been there probably the entire past week. Or maybe Shaun was just being hopeful. He didn't care. All that mattered was that he was awake now, and the look in his eyes was heart-shatteringly close to the look he would have just any day down at Saint Bonaventure when they worked together. Like he wanted to ask Shaun how things went with his newest patient, or if he wanted to go get something to eat after their shift. "Nothing," Shaun replied. "I was just thinking."

"Mm. That's dangerous," Glassman whispered. A whisper was all he could manage, anymore. Shaun had fine-tuned his hearing, in accordance. "What were you thinking about?"

"Memories." There was no need to dodge around things. What was to be lost? He glanced at the wall, more to indicate it, than anything else. "I like thinking back to when each of these were taken." Looking through them, he pointed to one of himself; he was standing by the mascot of his undergraduate college, looking thoroughly miserable and upset. The mascot was striking some sort of pose, but all Shaun's posture indicated was that he wanted to run away. "He wouldn't leave until you took a picture," Shaun recalled. He let his arm fall, and he sighed. "I didn't like him," he declared.

Silence followed the admission, and for a heartbeat he wasn't sure what he should say. Before it occurred to him that he should return the favor, and he shifted so that he could face Glassman instead of the collage. "What are you thinking about?" he redirected. To his relief, the other seemed just as aware. His attention was usually fleeting, when it came back at all. But it was still here, now.

Glassman looked at him carefully; for a second, the only noises were his unsteady breathing, and the overworked hum of his oxygen. Until he spoke, his words gravelly and weakened. "I'm thinking about how I don't deserve you," he rasped.

Shaun was slapped across the face by the reply. He hadn't expected it. He said nothing.

Glassman went on, albeit slowly. "I don't," he murmured, matter-of-factly. But emotion was already beginning to choke at each syllable. "I haven't…done anything to warrant you taking such good care of me. Even before…this, you would— you would come to my office every day, and you would have all those books on COPD, and you…would just do as much as you could. And when I was moved here…you've done everything I could ever have asked for. You've been so good, and you've…stayed with me, and I know you don't want to, but you do anyway…"

Shaun silently begged him to stop. His throat was getting hot.

"But I don't deserve any of it." This came out with something akin to a laugh on the end of it. "What have I ever done…in my entire life…to deserve you?" He was smiling, but it was sad.

"You've done a lot of things," he tried. "I'm not special, Doctor Glassman."

"No." The word was stronger. Almost like how he usually sounded, and it caused Shaun to clamp his mouth shut. Glassman was looking at him levelly. "Shaun, look at me." He did. "Don't say that," he wheezed. "Don't ever…say that, Shaun, don't even think it, not again. You have to promise me, that when I— that you won't let yourself think like that. You're amazing, Shaun, and you've accomplished so much, even when everything else was against you. You're the best resident Saint Bonaventure has ever had. You've done so much for so many people and you always expect nothing in return. You're more than special, Shaun. Don't ever say anything different." A tiny break. Before he repeated in a more strained voice: "Promise me, Shaun. Promise me you won't think that."

"I promise," he murmured. The words stuck on the way out.

Glassman nodded, his head barely moving with the gesture. "Good," he breathed out. "Good…" He closed his eyes, and then forced them open again to look at him. "You're going to be amazing, Shaun," he whispered. "You know that, don't you? You're going to be fantastic, and do so many amazing things…I wish I could be there to see them all. I wish I could be there to be proud of you. You just…have to think of me being proud of you, okay? Because I will be. I just…won't be there to say it."

Shaun looked down at his lap, and his hands that were folded there. He swallowed hard to try and prevent a lump from forming in his throat. His vision blurred over. He croaked softly under his breath: "I wish you would be…"

Glassman reached over and he put his hand down lightly on the side of Shaun's arm. Shaun's eyes flickered to the touch. "What did I do to earn you?" he whispered fondly. Shaun just stared at him, because he didn't know what he meant. "I didn't do anything…all I've done with you is mess things up. I…tried to push you away, before, and that— mess with the therapist, and forcing you to take her even though you didn't want to." He grimaced, a wave of regret washing over his face completely. "I should never have done that…I should never have done any of that. And afterwards, when I told you I couldn't be your friend…I lost so much time with you, just because I was so…"

"It doesn't matter," Shaun tried to reassure. "It's okay."

"But it's not, Shaun," Glassman murmured. He didn't move his hand, but that was fine, because Shaun didn't want him to. "It's not okay. I shouldn't have done it. And I'm sorry. I'm still so sorry, for treating you that way. Because…you're the best thing…that I have. You're the best thing that I've had in my life for a long time, Shaun, and…I shouldn't have pushed you aside like I did. And I shouldn't have…" He had to stop and cough through another fit, before he could continue. "And I'm sorry for what happened to Steve, Shaun, I am." This time, it was almost difficult to understand him, his voice was so congested.

Shaun weakened in confusion. But he didn't interrupt.

"I should have done more," Glassman croaked. "I should have done more for him, I should have made sure he was safe— that you both were safe. I could have…stepped in sooner, I could have kept him from dying. I could have saved you from so much trouble, and so much heartache…" Shaun's shoulders curled inward. "But I didn't— I let him down, and I let you down, even though you would never hold it against me like you deserve to." He was crying; Shaun realized it only when he heard him sniff, because at this point it hurt too much to look at him. Crying was bad— it would make breathing even harder. "I tried to do right by you with everything else, to make up for it, but still, I messed up…"

Shaun tried to keep himself steady. "It's okay," he repeated, shaking his head a little bit. His voice was getting thicker, too. "You did do right by me. I'm a surgical resident at your hospital. I get to do what I've always wanted. Nothing else matters anymore." He hesitated. There wasn't any point in bringing up Steve, because Steve was dead. But still, something compelled his thoughts to track elsewhere, and before he even really knew what he was saying, the words came out compulsively. "Steve wouldn't blame you. You didn't push him. And you didn't tell him to climb up on the train." He paused. "You've done a lot for me, Doctor Glassman. Even if we fought…it doesn't take that away."

He looked at him again, and he was relieved to see that he wasn't crying as much anymore. His expression was still pained, when he looked at Shaun, but he was breathing better. "I've tried to do as much for you as I could…and maybe I went too far sometimes…but it was just because I cared," he murmured. "You've grown up so much…from the little boy I first met…" Each phrase was separated and punctured with a sharper kind of gasp. Shaun blinked and felt another tear track down his cheek. "You've shown that you're more than capable of taking care of yourself…and I can trust you now to know that you'll be fine when I'm gone…" The grip on Shaun's arm tightened a tiny fraction. "You'll have people there, for you…Claire, and Jared, and even Melendez. Promise me you'll use that support system, if you need it, Shaun. I know you don't like to ask for help. But you have to promise me, so I know you'll be okay…"

The reply was immediate, but choked and heavy. "I promise," he sniffed. Glassman smiled. Relieved. It made Shaun's stomach twist harshly. "But it doesn't matter," he continued, trying to make his voice harder. "Because you're not doing to die." He shook his head. "I'm going to take care of you," he pressed. "I've been taking care of you. And I'm going to make sure you're okay." As if sheer hope and emotion could be enough to combat failing lungs. Shaun knew it wasn't; the facts were as plain as his hitching inhales and the trembling exhales. But the words came out anyway. He was as foolish as the patients he had to mind every day— constantly fighting against diagnoses that weren't about to change just because they wanted them to.

Glassman smiled, but it was that grin that gave off nothing but sorrow. He said nothing to Shaun's reassurance. Probably because he saw right through it. Instead, he took his hand off of his arm. The younger had no time at all to feel remorseful over the withdrawal, before Glassman asked softly: "Can you come here?" It was so quiet and reserved, Shaun was almost unable to hear the request.

Once he did, he had to stop and figure out what he meant. His eyes flickered to the space that was between Glassman and the wall. He hesitated for a heartbeat. Before he moved to fit himself there. He fit better than he anticipated. He twisted so that he was laying next to him on his side. He had enough room— he wasn't cramped or squished. This way he was closer to him, their shoulders barely brushing. He could hear him better, this way, too. Usually he wasn't a fan of proximity. But given the circumstances…this was okay. He liked this.

Silence was heavy between them for a long while. Eventually, Glassman turned his head so that he could look at him, and his eyes went soft as they searched the younger's face. "I'm very proud of you, Shaun," he repeated. His smile widened. "I knew from the very beginning, that you were much more than everyone else thought…and I'm glad you proved me right." He took in a slow, shallow breath. "Your parents…your father…they missed out on such a wonderful…fantastic son…and that's their own fault. I am honored…and privileged…to have been able to meet you. And be your friend." The last word splintered. It brought Shaun's mind a frozen pond— one that was cracking underneath his feet faster than he could rush away. It was going to cave in underneath him.

"I'm glad I had you," Shaun murmured, matching his volume level. "I don't know what would have happened to me if I hadn't known you."

Glassman softened. "You would have been just fine," he reassured. "I know you would have been."

Shaun glanced away. His eyes flashed, and he swallowed hard. Something about what Glassman had said was sticking with him. He had apologized for something that happened so long ago…something that, really, shouldn't have even been on his mind still. Had he just apologized for closure? Or had it been something that had been on his mind for ages, and only now was he able to get it out? Shaun wasn't sure. But…something was bottling itself on the tip of his tongue, now. Something that, especially over these last few months, had been bothering him and working under his skin.

A fight he had remembered when he'd sat downstairs and looked through the album filled with photos of him and Glassman together.

Something he had yelled in a fit of anger and had reoccurred to him when he had sat nights with Glassman, watching television or playing games to forget what was happening in the moment at hand.

A sentence he had found he regretted immensely. The realization had come in increments, but it was unavoidable, by now.

"I regret something too," he announced, softly. Glassman didn't say anything; all he did was listen. That was better— it gave Shaun more time to think. He didn't like to be interrupted, especially with things he found difficult. And this was difficult. His eyes trained off into space more. He took a deep breath and chose his words with care. "I…don't like fathers," he started to murmur. Glassman began to weaken. "My father…didn't like me. He told me all the time he wished I was different. I didn't want another one. I didn't want any father at all.

"And…when you were telling me what to do, I told you…you weren't my father." Glassman's eyes flashed raw with pain. Thankfully, Shaun wasn't looking at him. He was concentrating on picking the right words. "And…you're not. But…you took care of me. When I was alone. You let me go to medical school. You helped me when I needed it, even when I didn't ask. You got me my job at Saint Bonaventure." His expression was quickly beginning to crumble. "You did a lot for me. And even if you're not my father…you're the closest thing I've ever really had." His tears were back again with a vengeance, and he finally got the courage to look at him again. "I wish you were my father," he said thickly. "From the very beginning. I would have been happy if you were."

Glassman was too choked to reply. His lips were raised into a trembling, emotional smile as he met Shaun's gaze. He closed his eyes and shook his head, tears tracking their way down his cheeks. "Thank you," he croaked. "I would have been happy too." His face fell, in the way it usually did when you were bordering the line of completely falling apart. He was doing a good job in keeping himself together. He took a deep breath – as deep as he could manage, anyway – and he tried to brace himself. He reached over and touched Shaun's arm again, the same way he did before. "But I'm happy, now," he pressed, his voice thinner. "I'm happy with the way things are, now. I'm happy with the way things have been. You…have made me so happy. From the first day I met you, you have made me happier…"

Glassman frowned. He wavered, and almost didn't go on. But it fell out, like the rest of this was. "When Maddie…died…I thought I could never be happy again…I dragged through every day, I couldn't…get myself to find happiness in anything. It was like I was stuck, and I couldn't…get out. I was just going through the motions, and I wanted everything to be over…" He was crying, but then he laughed, and a smile came over his face. "And then this…little boy comes into my office, with his pet rabbit. And then he shows up again in the hospital, needing a place to stay. And I let him stay with me, and suddenly things didn't hurt as much. Suddenly I liked to actually make dinner; I didn't just order in and eat by myself, because I had someone to cook with, and eat with.

"I had someone to teach, and I had someone to watch football with. The house wasn't empty anymore…I had someone else, again. I heard footsteps running around the house, and I had someone to celebrate holidays with, and birthdays. I had someone to watch grow up. I had someone to be proud of. I had a reason to…" His smile fractured. He reached up to wipe at his eyes. "You gave me a reason again, Shaun," he managed weakly, each word on unsteady foundation. "You've made me happy again, when I didn't think it was possible."

Shaun was crying, but he was doing it silently. He wasn't looking away from him, though. He was managing that much, at least.

Glassman cringed, breaking down into a sob for only half a second. Before he recovered and wheezed: "I'm not your father like I was Maddie's, Shaun. But I love you just as much as I loved her." These words were completely shattered, and ruined. Shaun wiped at his eyes. "I can't say I would have loved you more if you were my son, because there's no way I possibly could. You are. Despite the mistakes I've made, and the wrongs I've done, you are. And I couldn't be happier, or prouder. Thank you, Shaun…for everything you've ever given me. Even if you didn't even realize what it was you were giving me."

Shaun choked back a swallow. He searched his face, hating the finality of the words, and the finality of his expression. He was trying just as hard as Glassman was not to break down. But it was getting harder. His lower lip trembled, and a deeper wince was gradually inching over his face. Quietly, he managed a tiny: "You're welcome." It didn't do much. It didn't do as much as he wanted it to, anyway. But it was all he could do. He ducked his head more, and the weight on his chest increased tenfold. His throat burned, and his lips shook even more, and before he knew it he was asking the question that had been stinging under his skin.

His father used to yell at him for asking questions. He used to call Shaun stupid for asking for clarifications on things, or wanting to more about something in particular. He would give him the hardest time. Later on, it had led to a compulsive fear of asking questions in general; he always used to clamp his mouth shut and choke it all back so that nobody would look down on him, or snap at him. Obviously, over time, he had grown out of the fear. Now, he didn't even care when Melendez looked at him in exasperation— he had a question, and he was going to get it answered.

But now, he knew for a fact that this question was definitely stupid. And pathetic.

His father would have yelled at him, for it.

But he knew Glassman would not.

"Can I stay here?" His voice shook with every syllable. It barely wormed its way out of his throat. "Can I stay here with you? And…can you stay with me?"

Glassman nodded, because his voice was too congested to form words. But the nod was enough, to reassure Shaun that they would keep this. It wouldn't lessen whatever else was happening, and whatever else was going to happen. At this moment in time, they were together, and they were fine, and maybe he could even forget that this was a temporary respite. That this was the most aware Glassman had been in days, and by tomorrow the burst of consciousness would be gone. That was to worry about later. For now, Shaun was laying beside him, and even though they were both crying, they were both there.

Who knew how much longer that would be the truth?

Shaun was distracted by his own thoughts, because he was only roused when he felt the tiniest of pressures on his head. He looked back over and realized Glassman had moved his arm out, a little uncoordinatedly, and his fingers were currently brushing through Shaun's bangs, ruffling them from side to side. A familiar warmth blossomed in his chest at the touch, but at the same time, a harrowing sense of sorrow shook him to his core. He had to bite down on his tongue to keep himself grounded. He didn't duck away; he just tried to focus on the warmth as best he could. Hanging onto it and struggling to keep it in his hands. But it was like water. It was draining from him far too fast.

Glassman smiled; if he picked up on Shaun's distress, he didn't show it.

All he rasped, very softly, was: "I'm going to miss you."

He may as well have stabbed him. He looked away, and more tears rushed down his face. He shifted more, as if he wasn't comfortable in the space provided. But it wasn't the space he was uncomfortable in; it was just the situation in general. The proper response, and the one that would be just as truthful, would of course be 'I'll miss you too.' Because he would. Every day, Shaun would miss him, just like he missed Steve. There wouldn't be a day that passed without a thought of him crossing his mind.

But saying that would be an admission of what was happening. And throughout this whole thing, Shaun had refused to acknowledge that there was an end to this. Why start now?

He rubbed at his eyes, to brush the tears away he knew would just be replaced. When he looked back at Glassman, he hoped he looked assured, and collected. "I'm right here," he announced, his voice gravelly with sorrow. Glassman seemed to understand this reply, and thankfully he didn't try and press. He just nodded once, and smiled again. Shaun tried to mimic it in return. And he settled back more on the bed, snuggling into the pillow next to Glassman as he let out a lower sigh. He watched Glassman close his eyes— despite how much he had been sleeping, he was exhausted. Breathing itself was tiring for him; doing this much talking had sapped him of his strength.

Shaun's eyes lingered on the older man for what seemed like ages. He listened to Glassman's shallow in and out, and he watched his chest rise and fall. He blinked, and pushed himself up, leaning over precariously to switch off the bedside lamp that had been the only light in the dim room up until now. Instantly, pitch blackness was left to swarm into place. He couldn't see Glassman anymore. Shaun leaned back and laid down again, moving delicately as to not wake the other.

He laid there awake for a long while. Something kept him up. He couldn't brush it away, or ignore it.

However, eventually his fatigue won. His eyes got heavier and heavier until he couldn't force them to stay open, and his head tipped forward more on the pillow. His breathing deepened, and his muscles lost their worried tension. His expression relaxed into peacefulness— a feat he could only accomplish now with unconsciousness.

Unbeknownst to him, in his sleep, the young man curled closer to Glassman.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He felt a hand on his shoulder. When he first felt it, it was more of a cautious poke. Gradually, though, as he tugged himself out of sleep, it grew steadier, and surer. His eyes cracked open. Fog seemed to shroud his entire consciousness; he could only gather a couple things at a time as his awareness reluctantly drained back. He had no idea what time it was, but he had needed about seven more hours of sleep. Despite his difficulty, he started to drag his head towards the touch. He started to try and force himself to wake.

"Shaun." The voice was choked. Something was wrong with it. "Shaun, wake up. Wake up, Shaun."

He knew that voice— but why was it here? His head turned around to look up at who was standing over the bed, and half-open eyes focused blearily on Claire. He blinked fast, to try and clear his vision. It was like he was trying to see through glasses. Why was she here? What time was it? She wasn't supposed to be here until tonight…right? Or had he gotten so distracted with everything else, he'd gotten the times confused, too? "Shaun, are you up?" she asked, and he was trying his best to make sure that he was. He was just so tired. "Are you awake? You need to wake up right now."

"Yes," he mumbled, inhaling sharply through his nose as he blinked even more. He shifted, moving so that he was on his back. He was aching from staying on his side all night. "How did—?" He didn't finish, closing his eyes tightly and rubbing at them to try and wake himself up more. And then the answer to his own question occurred, as his brain started to actually function. He'd given her a key to the house, so he wouldn't have to constantly let her in. Her and Jared both had keys; he'd made sure of it. She must have just decided to stop by before she went to Saint Bonaventure this morning. She'd done it once before. She just usually mentioned when she was planning her visits. She knew Shaun hated surprises.

"Shaun, you have to wake up," she repeated instead, and that was when Shaun was, in fact, awake enough to realize why she'd sounded so weird. Why it had sounded like something was wrong with her voice. It was a kind of sound that Shaun had grown more than familiar with: she was crying. Every syllable of hers shook, and emotion was choking at them like weeds. Her hand was still on his shoulder. When Shaun's hazy expression began to burn into one of panic and fear, her crying only worsened. "I just came in to see you guys before I went to work— I felt bad that I wasn't here last night with you two, but I— I just came in and he was—"

Shaun snapped into a sitting position. He moved so quickly that Claire yanked her hand back to herself like he was too hot to the touch. He moved so quickly that blackness swarmed his vision, and for a second he was teetering on the edge of fainting. But he shoved it all away and whirled down instead to look at Glassman, his heart already ramming against his ribcage with enough force to cause actual pain. His eyes were wide and already frantic. And he waited. For something. His breathing spiked into hyperventilation as he looked from Glassman's chest, to his stomach, to the oxygen mask he was wearing— to everything.

Waiting. For something.

That never came.

Glassman wasn't moving. He was completely still. He wasn't breathing.

Claire was crying still, but she was holding herself together for Shaun's sake. She watched her friend realize what was going on and what had happened, before she started to edge closer and reach out for him again. "I'm— I'm so sorry, Shaun," she murmured thickly, starting to put her hand down on his shoulder again in what she hoped would be a comforting gesture. "I'm so sorry, I can't imagine—"

"No…no, no," he rasped, horror and denial mixing a dangerous cocktail in the pit of his stomach. He literally yanked himself away from Claire's touch, and, receiving the message, she took three whole steps backwards, to give him space. Shaun fumbled, reaching out to take Glassman's pulse, as if it mattered. Claire watched in silence, her lips pressed tightly together. Shaun was shaking his head, and when he came up with nothing, he took in another sharp gasp, turning and sitting up on his legs so that he was hunched over the body. All the while, muttering to himself: "No, no, no, no, no, nonononono—"

He put his hands one of top of the other, and Claire stiffened when she realized too late what he was doing. His eyes were wild and crazy, and they were already streaming with panicked tears. Before she could stop him, he started to administer compressions to Glassman's chest, putting all of his weight and all of his effort behind each press. All the while muttering to himself: "No, no, no, no," as if it meant anything. As if once he said it enough, the clock would turn back. Glassman, of course, did not react at all to harsh compressions; he was just limp underneath Shaun, his head only jostling with every push. Shaun wasn't blind to the failure that was already staring him in the face. His 'no's were already spiking with franticness— he was already collapsing into unintelligible sobs as he kept trying in vain to get the man's heat beating again.

Claire snapped into motion after her initial shock. She took in a quick breath and she shoved aside her own grief, palpable and burning. She marched forward and grabbed at Shaun's arms, trying to get him to stop. He was going to break a rib. Maybe more, if he hadn't already. "Shaun, stop." She tried to make her voice hard, so he would listen. She tried not to let it crack and break. Shaun ignored her. He fought to keep going, against her attempted restrictions. She scrambled to keep hold of his arms and yank them back. "Shaun, I said stop!" she yelled, which only made Shaun cry harder and push faster. "Shaun, stop it! Stop! Shaun!"

He moved faster, and she was scrambling now to keep a hold of him. Finally she got a tight enough grip on his wrists, and she was able to yank him to the side, towards the foot of the bed and off of Glassman. Immediately, she shut her eyes tightly at the scream of objection that ripped out of Shaun's throat. He whirled, trying to get out of her grip and fly back to the body again. But she knew that he would just revert back to the compressions again, so, biting down hard on her tongue, she forced herself to wrap her arms around his chest and hold him in place.

"Let go!" he screeched, trying to reach up and smack her arms away. He tried to thrash out of her grip, or wriggle loose, but she wasn't letting him. Claire just ignored the strikes that hit her and held him even tighter, which caused white-hot guilt to burn at her skin, because she knew he didn't like pressure. She waited him out, tears rushing down her face as she felt her friend struggle, and listened to him screech at her to get off of him. "I want to save him!" he screamed, flailing desperately for Glassman as body-wracking sobs caused him to choke and heave. "Let me save him! Let me go, let me go let me go!" he screeched.

Claire cringed, but she didn't give him what he wanted.

He continued to fight and pull desperately, until gradually his movements became less sharp. Gradually, he ran out of the energy he barely had in the first place. After what seemed like years of fighting and yelling, he went limp and hung his head down low, his chin almost touching his chest. Claire raised her own head when she realized he was giving up, and she started to open her mouth to say something. When, instead of screaming at her to take her arms away, Shaun started to do something that was almost ten times worse.

He started crying. Harsh, punctured, grating sobs that ripped at his throat on the way out. His shoulders heaved and his entire body was pitched forward with every cry. Every sob was filled with unimaginable loss and disappointment. Regret, and failure, and anger. There was no sense to it. It was a mix of hyperventilation and terrible moans that completely ripped Claire' heart into pieces. It took her breath away, just to hear the amount of sorrow and loss that was there. That couldn't stop coming out, because Shaun was just completely broken.

She shifted her hold, so that she was hugging him, instead of restraining him. Shaun didn't pull away. Maybe he didn't even realize she was touching him, even. He just kept crying, and she knew she couldn't stop him. She knew there was nothing she could say or do now that would even remotely help. She closed her eyes tightly and wished she could block out his heartbreaking keening. She wished she could walk away from this entire thing, blissfully ignorant about what was now irreversibly here.

But she couldn't.

And even if she could, she wouldn't do that to Shaun.

She wouldn't leave him to handle all this himself.

Glassman wouldn't have wanted that.

So she stayed there with him. Tears nearly blinding her, she opened her eyes to look at the body of the man who had once been the president of her hospital. Who had once sat with her and had delicately delivered the news that she had killed someone thanks to her own negligence. Who had encouraged her to seek therapy and showed concern in her progress of dealing with it all. Who had been a friend to her, and a mentor. Not nearly as much of one as he had been to Shaun, though. He had been everything to her friend. Shaun needed her, now.

Later, she would call Melendez. She would tell Jared. She would stay with Shaun. She would help with whatever she could. She would stand at his side when they came to remove the body.

But for right now, she just stood, lacing her arms around her friend like she was trying to hold all his pieces together before they could crumble away entirely.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus concludes I'd Take Care of You. Thank you for those of you who have read and have supported this story; writing this has meant so much to me and it has helped me through some tough emotions. I wrote the first page of this story on my phone at four in the morning as a distraction and a vent, sitting in my aunt's house helping her through the night. And I post this last chapter three weeks later, much more at peace, and much happier, at least in a sense. I'm better now, and things are easier, so it's only fitting I ensure the same ending here as well.  
> Thank you again for reading, and I hope I've been able to give this story the send-off it deserves. I hope I cleared out enough typos, but, as always, please tell me if I haven't, or if there's anything else awry.

It all worked out. Oddly enough, and surreally enough, it did. Things fell into place like perfectly-aligned puzzle pieces. You would think that it would be impossible, and difficult. That it would be stressful and confusing, and the worst chore you could possibly uptake. But it wasn't. It was easy. It was like they were going through a procedure, and it was all just step-by-step.

Step one: Claire had finally let go of Shaun. She had waited until he'd stopped heaving and sobbing— until his gasps had decayed away into hiccups, and his body was only wracked with the occasional shiver. Once he seemed to calm down and get back to himself, Claire had taken back her arms and she'd released him, only to watch with a heavy and sorrowful stare as he collapsed in on himself like a crumpled piece of paper. He had covered his face with his hands; he hadn't stopped crying. But he also hadn't flown back to Glassman to start his compressions again. She had been relieved with that small victory, and she had spoken gently to him, and helped him off the bed.

Step two: the calls. Claire had taken it upon herself to make them all. It was a task she took on without even thinking twice. Shaun's expression had been frozen and numb with shock, after his episode had passed. Treating him gently, like he was prone to break, she had led him over to the chair at Glassman's bedside and helped him to sit. He had done so without speaking, and, not even blinking; he had just turned to stare at the body. Like he'd never seen one before, and it was something entirely foreign. Claire had stepped out into the hall, to try and make sure he didn't hear her conversation. But she'd stayed close, not wanting to leave him too alone, either.

She had called Melendez first, and she had delivered the news with a lump in her throat. Her attending's reaction had made her eyes well even more. He had told her all that she expected to, about not having to come in today, and to keep him posted on what was going on. He had asked about Shaun, in a voice that was softer, with both sorrow and pity. Once she was finished talking to him, she had called Jared, and she had allowed herself to get more choked up during that conversation. He'd promised to be there soon. She had thanked him and hung up. And from there, she had called the funeral home, knowing its number only because she had noticed it on the kitchen counter after Shaun had tried to bury it underneath about fifty other envelopes.

Step three: sit with him. She had walked back into the room, forcing herself not to look at Glassman as she went to stand beside her friend instead. Her expression had been beyond pained, and, reluctantly, she had reached out to lay her hand down on his shoulder. It had been the only thing she could think of to do, then— it had been the only thing she could think of often during this entire thing. She had tried to speak a couple times and worm out any kind of response. "I'm so sorry, Shaun," she'd tried. Or: "Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?" She'd even tried: "You meant so much to him…I'm sure he was very happy, Shaun…" But her efforts had earned her nothing. Shaun had been silent, just staring emptily ahead. She'd still stayed.

Step four: get him out as best she could. The funeral home came to collect the body, and she had grabbed gentle hold of Shaun's hand and tried to encourage him to come downstairs with her instead. "I'll make you something to eat," she'd tried to tempt him. But he had taken his hand away, still saying nothing. He'd refused. She had crossed her arms over her chest and watched in silence, then, as people filed neatly into the room to take Glassman away. They'd worn soft smiles and sympathetic looks. Shaun hadn't paid them any mind, though, and he certainly had not answered when they'd tried to ask him about later arrangements. When they'd started to file out with him in tow, however, Shaun did rise. He'd stood and wrung his hands together, and he'd trailed after them, his eyes red and puffy from crying as he'd croaked desperately: "Please be careful…be careful…" all the way down the stairs and out the door.

Step five: figure out as much as she could so that maybe Shaun didn't have to. She left him in the kitchen as she spoke to one of the men that had come. She'd gotten his number and contact information, so she could help arrange whatever funeral plans that needed to be done. If Shaun would allow such help, of course. She had saved all the information in her phone and she had smiled sadly when the man gave her his condolences.

Step six: pick up the pieces. She'd gone back into the kitchen to Shaun again, and offered to cook a second time. But again, he had just been silent. At the table, he'd stared unseeingly down at the wood, tears rushing silently down his face. His shoulders had still been shaking with tiny sobs he held back. Despite the lack of response, she had started omelets, since they didn't have much in the fridge. She'd made him his, and then she'd gone back upstairs. She'd gone into Glassman's room and sucked in a deep breath, and she had cleaned. Thanks to the fact Shaun had been the doctor on call throughout this whole thing, there wasn't much to do. But she had stripped the bed and loaded it all in the washer with a heavy expression. And then she'd gathered up Shaun's bedding, still on the ground, and went back to his room to put it all back where it belonged, and neatly so.

Once that was over, there was oddly…nothing else to do. She went back downstairs to see Shaun hadn't even so much as glanced at the omelet she'd made. She stopped short in the doorway of the kitchen to watch him before he could realize she'd made it back. He wasn't facing her, so he was oblivious to her intrusion. Her chest felt like someone was carving into it, as she looked at her friend. He was still shaking…she wondered, at this point, if he was even able to stop. She watched him duck his head and hold it in his hands. A tiny whimper escaped his throat and met her ears, and she had to reach up to wipe at her eyes.

She was about to go in, when a text caught her off-guard. She looked down to check it, before she let out a small sigh and turned around. She went to the door and opened it to see Jared making his way up to the house from his car. He quickened his pace once he saw her, and she found herself melting with relief when he immediately swept her into a hug. The stress of the morning seemed to build and push on her at the contact, and she squeezed him tightly back, her eyes shutting. "It's awful," she mumbled, her words thick and almost lost in his chest. He held her tighter. She sniffed and pulled back, wiping again at her face. "Shaun's upset— I've never seen him this upset," she croaked. "It's really bad, Jared."

"Hey, hey," he soothed, raising his eyebrows as he looked at her. "It's okay. Yeah? It's alright— we knew this was coming. We never wanted it to come, but now that it's here, we know what we need to do. We need to be there for Shaun. That's why we're here." She swallowed and nodded once. She took in a deeper breath, to try and steady herself. He rubbed the side of her arm tenderly. "I'm so sorry you had to be the one that was there," he offered, quieter. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she managed. She had to clear her throat. "I just want to take care of Shaun, now."

Jared nodded. He started to sweep on, his words brisk and prepared, and Claire found herself sagging even more with relief at the fact he knew all of what to say already. "Three days," he returned. "Usually for bereavement, you're given about three days to grieve and arrange a funeral. Granted, usually it's most easily given for family members. But loved ones count too, and I don't think we would be admonished too harshly if we ask for some time off because of this. At the very least, they would probably be willing to extend those couple of days to us. So, what we need to do is just split it up. I take off three days, and then you take off three days. That way Shaun will have at least someone here with him during all this. If he wants it, of course. Someone to…help him handle everything."

She was nodding, slowly. "Okay," she murmured under her breath. "Yeah…yeah, that's smart." She thought for a second, before she nodded again. "You can take the first three days," she said, to Jared's clear surprise. "I think…" Her voice cracked, and she grimaced as she looked over her shoulder. "I think he would prefer to have you here, for right now. I can help with the arrangements, I just…I'd probably be better to stay with him after the funeral and everything else." She looked back at Jared, anxious. "If that's okay," she amended at the last second.

Jared shook his head. "It's fine," he said. Which was good. Jared was probably the better option between the two of them. He was better at providing distractions, which could be what Shaun needed right about now. Claire needed her own separate time to grieve, as well. To get the image of Shaun doing frantic compressions out of her mind, and the sound of his screaming out of her ears. Which meant she had to get going sooner rather than later, to work. She had to tell everyone there, too. The idea was enough to turn her stomach. But she swallowed it all and flashed Jared a smile; she turned and went back to the kitchen, and she heard him follow after.

Shaun was in the exact same position he had been left in. He was still buried away in his hands, still sniffing every so often. Claire saw Jared's eyes flash immediately with pain. She stepped inside, putting on a gentle smile. "Shaun, Jared stopped by," she said. He didn't even turn. "I think…he's going to stay here with you, if you want. So you're not alone. Is that okay?"

Shaun didn't reply. But if she wasn't mistaken, he had flinched when the word 'alone' had passed her lips. She frowned and glanced back at Jared. He took in a slow breath and stepped around her. He walked over so he could take a seat beside him. He clasped his hands together and leaned out on the table so that he could look at him. "Hey..." His voice was soft, and careful. "I'm so sorry, Shaun. I really am. I think we all had hoped that we had longer with him. But even so…it doesn't take away the time we did have. The time you had with him." Shaun's hands fell away from his face, but it was only so his arms could tuck defensively closer. His eyes were ruined, from crying so much. "It hurts, Shaun, but that hurt is only there to show how much he meant to you."

Claire watched them, her heart in her throat.

Shaun's lower lip trembled violently. He cringed and shook his head. "I don't want it to hurt," he cried. "I want him to still be here."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She walked up the steps to Glassman's house and unlocked the door with the key she still had. She was weary and exhausted after forcing herself to go through the entire workday, but at least now it was finally over. The fact she was at work hadn't helped at all with the fact that everywhere she'd gone, she had been pestered with questions. Even Aoki had tracked her down to speak with her. Melendez had done his best with shooing everyone away, when he could. He came to her rescue, that way. And more than once, he'd offered for her to just stop and take the day off. But she was adamant that she would take her leave after Jared took his— she didn't want to leave Shaun alone in any of this, and leaving him alone right after the funeral would be too much. So she'd just suffered through it, and picked dully at her lunch, and her dinner. And gone straight back to Glassman's once her shift ended.

She let herself inside without knocking. Stepping over the threshold, her heart turned hollow, and she found herself wilting already. She had frequented this place when Glassman had been here still, and it was more than strange for her to stand in the home and not hear the loud hum of the oxygen concentrator. If she wasn't mistaken, hospice would have already come by to sweep all the equipment out of the house. They were efficient, if nothing else. Which was good, because that just meant Shaun wouldn't have to deal with it. Just one less thing. But standing there in the quiet, she realized that the house now felt empty and barren.

Something was missing and there was no possible way of filling that hole.

For a long moment, she just stood in the silence, feeling just as vacant. Until she realized that things weren't as quiet as they'd first seemed. She heard voices. Claire frowned and set down her purse, turning so she could walk towards the kitchen and follow the sound. When she got closer, she realized it was mainly one voice that was talking. As she neared the room, it was easier to make sense of what was being said. "Okay, sure." It was Jared. His voice was light, and Claire realized he was laughing. "No, I heard you, I heard you," he kept chuckling, and a little bit of a hopeful smile began to trace its way over Claire's face as she started to round the corner. "But I do think it's time to cut you off. I think you've had one too many, my friend."

"N— no." Claire came into the kitchen, and her smile was dashed into an uncertain frown, instead. Shaun and Jared were sitting at the table together still, but now they were sitting opposite of the other rather than side-by-side. Jared was nursing a bottle of beer himself, but it looked to be his only one so far. Around Shaun, however, were several bottles. Too many. Looking at the amount, Claire's stomach immediately dropped. It looked like there had been shots involved in the equation somewhere, too— there was an opened bottle of tequila nearer to the edge of the table.

There was no telling how much Shaun had had of that. But she could tell that however much Shaun had drunk, it was a lot. Her friend was entirely unaware of her coming in. He pointed at Jared a little limply, his expression pinched. "'m not…driving, there's no signs of alcohol poisoning, you've got— vomiting and seizures and blue-tinged skin and irregular breathing and…" The more symptoms he listed, the more it blended together and mumbled off into nothing. Jared watched him with a patience that showed this had been going on for a while. Claire wasn't sure how she felt about that. Eventually Shaun's arm fell back onto the table. "I want another one," he sighed, looking almost distastefully at the one he already had. Which still had a bit left in it.

"Okay, well—" He cut off when he saw Claire was standing there, tired and exhausted from a long day of work and grief at the same time. His smile started to fall, and it didn't make her stomach unknit much. "Hey, Claire." Shaun didn't rouse at the hello. He was currently glaring at the bottle in front of him with enough rage to melt it down. "How was work?" he asked.

"It was fine," she murmured, not wanting to delve too much into it. The important part was that it was over, now. She turned her gaze back onto Shaun now, and she didn't mistake the fact that Jared looked just the smallest bit guilty. "What's going on?" she asked. Her voice had a tiny edge to it. "Shaun, did you drink all of those?" She looked hard at Jared, who was probably trying to send her a silent message through the look he sent her. But it went right over her head, if he was.

"No," Shaun grumbled, even though the evidence was scattered around him. It was like he was holding a bloody knife, saying: "No, officer, I have no idea who stabbed this poor person, I'm completely innocent." And the fact that his face was so flushed and his eyes were so unfocused didn't help very much either. It was all working against him right now, but he was probably pretty used to that by this point. She was trying to look at the positives: at least he pulled off the lie pretty well. The last lie he'd tried to tell her was when they were having lunch together ages ago; Jared had swiped her phone when she wasn't looking, and Shaun had very helpfully alerted her to the fact that Jared didn't have it, when she'd asked where it was.

She looked at Jared, her eyes narrowing more. She said nothing, just waiting for an explanation.

He just gestured aimlessly, at first. Shockingly, that wasn't enough for Claire, so he took in a little bit more of a sigh and he tried to elaborate. "We were just hanging out today, and I finally broke the news to him that this house had nothing at all to eat in it. So we went to the store together, and I just had the idea to buy a bottle— whenever someone close to me has passed, I've always had this tradition of buying a bottle of alcohol and pouring it out. Shaun wanted to get two, and it was just cheaper to buy the pack…we found that other one later." He tipped his head over to indicate the tequila.

Claire rubbed at her forehead with a grimace. Jared looked at Shaun, who was distracted for the time being, and he stood up from the table. He went over to Claire and shoved his hands in his pockets as he leaned close to her ear to whisper: "Claire, it's fine." Her lips pressed together, but she didn't object. "If he wants to relax a little bit, let him. He's been fine this entire time— he's been crying all day, and before you just walked in, he was telling me a joke. It's not like it's a problem right now. He can drink if he wants." He pulled back and looked at her with his eyebrows raised. She reasoned that he was right, even though it hurt her heart even look at Shaun. He'd gone out with them to bars numerous times, and never once touched a drink. She'd never seen him drunk before, and the fact that she was on the day that Glassman died was making her feel ill.

"Right," she managed, after a second. She put a smile on her face, and she walked past Jared to take the chair he'd been sitting in before. She leaned her elbows on the table and beamed at Shaun, even though he wasn't looking at her. Foggily, he was staring towards the table top. "How are you doing, Shaun?" she asked softly. "Are you okay?" She couldn't help the question, or the fact that her voice automatically went gentle and sympathetic.

He lifted his eyes to meet hers, and she smiled wider. He exhaled a little louder than he normally did, and he tilted his head to the side. "I'm fine," he sighed, and Claire's smile tightened at the tone of his voice. He sounded dull, and apathetic. His words dragged, like he had cotton in his mouth and he was just trying to enunciate around it. He lifted his arm to lean his temple against it, and his eyes closed briefly. "I'm fine," he mumbled. "It's fine…we're all fine…" He shrugged his shoulders and made a face, before he stopped talking altogether. A numbed sense of pain had flickered over his expression, but it was gone as quick as it had come. He stared off again, like he'd forgotten he was even being spoken to.

Claire glanced at Jared. Her friend cleared her throat and put on a grin, walking over to clap a hand down on Shaun's shoulder. Shaun didn't react to the touch; he just stared down mournfully as he was shaken from side to side. "Of course we're all fine," he chirped, letting his hand stay put. "I finally learned the rules to that card game, today. And you wouldn't believe how many episodes of Wheel of Fortune we binged. And how horrible I was at them." Shaun took another drink; he was probably a couple sip away from polishing of this one. Again, Claire rubbed at her forehead. "We talked to the funeral home." Shaun took another drink. "The funeral is going to be— not tomorrow, but the next day." She stiffened a little at how soon. "At first we were going to make it tomorrow. But this way, it lets people…you know, make room in their schedules, and organize everything. It gives us some time too. And Shaun. It was the best option. But…if you could spread the word at the hospital tomorrow…it'll start around seven."

"Y-yeah," she managed. "Yeah, of course. I can."

"Why aren't you going to work?" Shaun interrupted. He probably didn't mean for it come out such a way, but the question made it sound like he was personally offended. He looked at Jared oddly, and his nose wrinkled. "You'rrrre staying here— you should be at work, too." He looked back front, away from Jared's bemused expression, and he held the side of his head up again. His expression was writing over in sloppy sadness. "You shouldn't be here— he hired you to work, and you should work. It's not complicated at all."

Jared had to figure out what to say before he could reply. "Well, yeah, of course…I'll go back to work soon, Shaun. I'll probably go back after the funeral. Then Claire is going to stay here, if you'd want her company." Shaun rolled his eyes. Claire didn't think she'd ever seen him roll his eyes before now. "But I'm not going to go back just yet. I want to stay here. Pretty soon, you'll get back to work with us, too," Jared encouraged. "We've missed you these past couple of weeks. It's certainly not the same without you. I'm sure you're itching to get back over that table, right? You'll be so eager we'll have to hold you back."

After this morning, the words made Claire fidget.

Shaun didn't lighten at the mention of going back to work. In fact, he seemed to sour more. He was messing with the mostly-empty bottle of alcohol, now. Claire was almost worried he'd break it, he was tapping it against the table so much. A tiny grumble died in the back of his throat. His next words made both Claire and Jared freeze, and lock eyes. "I don't wanna go back," he drawled simply. He ignored their shocked expressions and went on, shaking his head groggily. "'m not going back. No."

"Y-you're not going back, Shaun?" Claire asked. She leaned forward more. "We're talking about Saint Bonaventure. Going back to work. You can't…just not go back. You're a resident there! With us! I know things have been hard lately, and they're going to be hard for a while, but…giving up your residency isn't the way to go."

"He doesn't mean he's quitting," Jared reassured. "He meant—"

"I'm quitting," he interrupted, and Jared immediately snapped his mouth shut. He looked down at him, alarmed. Shaun was back to glaring at nothing in particular. One of his hands raised up to gesture lamely in the air. "I don't want to go back…I'm not going to go back. No." He shook his head more; the excess movement looked as though it was starting to make him queasy. Nonetheless, he just continued, gesturing oddly with his hand again. He looked at Claire and pointed at her. She guessed he had a habit of pointing, when intoxicated. "You can tell that to Melendez, too, when you tell him about the—" He stopped himself, and he closed his eyes. He shook his head again, as if to say: 'You get what I mean.' He took another drink, but this time he came up with less than he was anticipating. He looked at the emptied bottle with confused disappointment.

Claire searched Shaun's face sorrowfully. Jared was silent now, so she did the honors of replying. But the words came to her with difficulty. "Shaun…I'm not going to tell Melendez you're quitting," she managed, after a heartbeat. She was surprised when Shaun immediately shot her a hostile look. She took in a slower breath and steadied herself. She didn't back down. "Shaun, you've had a lot to drink, you're very upset, and you're not thinking clearly. You shouldn't make decisions right now. Especially not one about whether or not to be a surgeon. You're a wonderful surgeon already, Shaun, and you love it; you would never want to quit. And you're too good to, anyway." She offered a smile, hoping to quell whatever flare her words had incited.

But the grin vanished immediately when Shaun laughed. He actually laughed, looking off to the side. It was a rarity to have Shaun laugh outright at something either of them said. Usually it was easy to get him to smile, but to laugh? Claire and Jared always high-fived each other when they could accomplish that. Now, he was shaking with it, and nothing she had said was meant to be humorous. "No I'm not!" he said after a tiny burst of giggles. He sounded like had when they were in the car transporting Chuck's liver, when the driver had said something completely unfounded and ridiculous. She weakened. "I'm not a good surgeon— I'm not even a good doctor!" He was grinning, but underneath the bright smile, she could sense unfathomable sorrow and regret. It churned her stomach.

"Of course you are, Shaun," she tried. "You're a great doctor! You've saved so many people, and you—"

"I can't save anyone I want to!" Shaun rebutted, still in that same pinched laughter. He hung his head and laughed even more, and between each giggle, he continued. "I can't save anyone that matters— everyone that matters dies, and I can't get them back, no matter how many surgeries— or procedures— and it's not fair, and I can't do anything right." He hunched over the table, nearly hitting his forehead against it as his shoulders shook with laughter. Claire and Jared were both enrapt in horrified and pained silence. They just stared at him, lost for words. He kept going. "If I couldn't save them— I can't save anyone else. Nothing matters anymore. I can't be a surgeon."

Claire felt her eyes sting, and her heart tear. Shaun tried to take another drink, but she reached over and took the empty glass away from him. Again, he looked far angrier than she anticipated. She ignored it. She knew he didn't mean it. She knew he didn't mean any of this. "You can, and you will be," she pressed. "Glassman wouldn't have wanted you to quit being a surgeon because of him, Shaun. We all knew his time was coming, and there was nothing any of us could do. Melendez couldn't even save him, Shaun, and he's the best surgeon we know. It was out of everyone's hands. Don't give up everything else because of this." He was still laughing, like she was telling a joke. Her eyes narrowed more, and she made her voice harder. "Shaun, we care about you, and we would miss you if—"

"Mm— no," he interrupted yet again. Her forehead creased, but he just raised a hand up, lifting his index finger to shush her. He looked at her again, and his expression was back to that furious glower. She hadn't seen him angry. Irritated, yes— on slower days, Jared made it his personal goal to see how fast he could irritate Shaun, so she was well-versed in seeing that expression on his face. But this wasn't irritation. It was anger, and it was everywhere, not just a tiny hint of it. It was the way his voice had sounded when he'd screamed at her to let go of him. And though he was more than inebriated, Claire was almost certain that her restraint was half of what was making him so angry right now. It was where half of this fire was coming from. "Don't," he choked, his arm falling back down onto the table.

She blinked slowly. Her expression was purposefully blank. "Don't what, Shaun?" she asked evenly. Calmly.

"Don't— pretend you like me," he snapped, and Jared started edging forward, reaching towards his friend as his face fell. Shaun immediately scuttled away from the touch, hostile to the both of them now. He stood up too quickly, and he had to prop himself up on the table, swaying a little bit on his feet. Claire stared at him, stricken, trying not to blink so that her tears wouldn't fall. "'Cause you don't— you— you—" Again, he jabbed a finger at Claire. She tried not to flinch away from it. "You were mean to me when you first met me. You…didn't listen, and you told me to leave. An— to 'behave myself.'" The last two words were spat out. She finally blinked, and ducked her head to look at her lap, trying to wipe at her eyes inconspicuously. "And you only talked to me when I was hired. 'Cause you didn' have a choice."

She closed her eyes. "That's not true," she whispered out, but immediately hated herself, because she knew that it was. Or, maybe it wasn't because he was hired, but she had only changed her mind about her first impression because of the fact that he was proven right about that echocardiogram. What would she have done if he wasn't? She never would have looked at him twice again. But that was before— that was before Shaun changed her mind about things— that was before he'd shown her time and again that her preconceived notions were wrong. Now, he was one of her best friends. He was one of her two best friends. And right now they were sitting in the kitchen of a man they'd both loved who'd died, and he'd just thrown this accusation at her, and she knew she had no defense against it.

Shaun didn't reply to what she said, but she didn't blame him, because it had no ground to stand on as it was. He just smiled that unfriendly smile again. "But you have a choice, now," he offered, as if he was only trying to be helpful. She didn't look up; she just swallowed back the lump forming in her throat. "Doctor Glassman was the only person at Saint Bonaventure that wanted me there. Now that he's gone, nobody wants me. You wouldn't let me save him, and now he's gone, and I can't go back." The last sentence seemed to wilt and start to buckle in on itself, but only half a second after it was out, did he revert back to laughing. Still holding himself up on the table, Shaun looked to the side aimlessly, the smile crawling back over his lips. "Nobody wants me," he repeated cheerily. "I should…stay away."

Jared took in an even breath. "Okay," he reasoned eventually, and Claire closed her eyes even tighter at the tone of his voice. It was the voice pretty much every doctor used on patients who were being difficult and needed soothing— or the voice they reserved for little kids who were in distress. He took a step closer to Shaun and gave him a grin. "We're going to talk about this in the morning, alright?" he prompted. "The sun will be back up, you'll have slept all this alcohol off, and if you still want to quit, then we'll talk about it then. Because right now, I don't think we're going to get much of anywhere, yeah? We're going to put a pin in this until tomorrow. I think, right now, you should just go to bed. I think that's a good idea, don't you?"

Shaun looked at him with only a fraction of the anger he'd had for Claire. He looked at the mess on the table; he deflated, and seemed to come back to himself in only a tiny smidge. "I need to…" He started to move, as if to gather up all the empty bottles and clean up after himself.

Jared reached over and lightly pushed his arms back. "I've got it, don't worry. You just go to bed," he encouraged. Shaun drew back uncertainly, blinking a little fast. Jared looked him up and down in concern and asked: "You've got it? Or do you need help?" Shaun's other arm went down to hold to the table and he staggered, his eyes going half-lidded as he mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like a refusal. Jared hesitated only briefly before he ducked forward and gently took one of Shaun's arms. He looped it around his neck, so he could support him; Shaun was so out of it he said nothing, and didn't even react. Wordlessly, Claire rose and took his other side.

The two made for upstairs, half-leading, half-dragging their friend. Shaun stumbled along clumsily, having to fight to keep up. His head was hung down low, and every so often it sounded like he was mumbling something. Maybe trying to keep up their argument, maybe apologizing for it, maybe saying something entirely different— neither of the two could fathom. They just walked along, finding difficulty in the steps but managing it all the same. When they got up on the second floor, they were met with a little more difficulty. Shaun started to make for Glassman's room instead, automatically attempting to veer down that hallway like he had every night before. Jared had to do some significant persuading to get him to stop fighting and going down that hall. The two leading him along had to drag him more, his feet scuffing against the ground.

He stumbled along clumsily, and he only got worse and more uncoordinated the longer he was forced to walk. Claire's stomach was in knots by the they time they got through the door. She was grateful that she'd thought of making his bed this morning, because now all they had to do was let him drop onto it. And drop he did— like a rock. He was looking sicker now, so he collapsed back into bed with a huff; his eyes were already closing, but his lips were twitching with mumbled speech that didn't make it much farther. Claire and Jared were left to stand over him; they turned and exchanged twin looks of bleak helplessness.

Claire sucked in a slow breath and she cleared her throat with a tiny grimace. "Shaun, we're…we're going to be right downstairs, okay?" she asked, hating the way her voice came out sounding. Against herself, because she knew no good would come out of it at all, she wondered what Glassman would think of if he was standing by them, looking down at Shaun, drunk and disoriented and raw with grief. It was a stupid thought, because if Glassman was still here, then this wouldn't be happening at all. But it still occurred to her, and it made her throat close in on itself and clench. Anything she said next was much more difficult to force out. "Or you can— I can leave, if you want." It fell out of her mouth compulsively. She remembered the way he'd screamed at her this morning, and how he'd glared at her downstairs. "Jared will be downstairs, if you need him, I mean…"

Jared looked at her oddly, but she pointedly did not meet his stare.

Shaun's eyes opened halfway. His arms were folded up by his head as if to shield his face from something, and his hands were wringing weakly together. His expression was still foggy, but emotion was beginning to crawl over it. His eyes flashed, and he curled tighter, bringing his arms so close that his hands were against his forehead now. "I don't need anyone…" he breathed, still sounding like he had that mouthful of cotton. His voice was so low, it was almost impossible to hear him. "I don't need help…I don't…help…" The vowels seemed to drag longer than the other letters. Claire's chest constricted.

Again, Jared was the peacemaker. "Of course you don't," he replied, flashing a look at Claire before he leaned over and started to mess with the comforter. It was awkward to shift the blankets out from underneath him and pull them over, but he managed it. "You never need help with anything." The look on his face made it clear he didn't agree wait what he was saying. But it wasn't like Shaun could pick up on that. "That was just a roundabout way of saying you're stuck with me for a while. It's not too important."

Shaun sighed heavily, his head sinking back into the pillow. He still kept his arms shielding his face. Jared started to withdraw and he grabbed hold of Claire's wrist, to pull her away as well. When Shaun spoke a little louder, and made them both stop. "I can't be a surgeon…" he mumbled again. His voice was starting to drag with exhaustion. All his sleepless nights were catching up to him now, it seemed. To Claire's knowledge, he hadn't slept at all today, even though the bags under his eyes were starting to look more like bruises.

Claire started to open her mouth, but Jared beat her to the punch. "We know, Shaun," he reassured. Again, he glared at Claire. The message was clear. 'If we can't get sense out of him, then we're not going to try.' It was pointless, and she knew that. But it still hurt; maybe it hurt even more, knowing that. Jared leaned over and patted his shoulder. "For now, let's just—"

"I did a surgery with him once," Shaun declared suddenly, his voice clogged. His eyes fluttered closed again, and he curled up even more. Even Jared didn't have the heart to speak after this one. He just grew uncertain, staring down in faint surprise. Shaun smiled, but this time it clearly held nothing but deep sorrow. His lips shook, and pain was bright in his glazed-over eyes. "I did a surgery with him once…it was the only time I— I spent the whole time angry. I was angry. I was mean." His smile grew wider, and fractured even worse. Claire bit down on her lower lip and felt her eyes well faster. She realized Shaun was quickly beginning to cry. "I was mean to him, I could have— I could have—" He gasped, and his shoulders began to shake. He ducked his head down and started to break down into choked sobs.

"Shaun, it's just— go to sleep," Jared urged gently. The drinks had been a good idea for a while – before Claire had come, Shaun had actually been smiling, and talking– but clearly now was the turning point. He was too tired, and too drunk, and the day was crashing in on him, so this was usually the time when you clocked out. Shaun was still crying, but if Jared was any expert, he thought that he looked as though he was slowly falling more and more out of it. Maybe he could pass out before he got too upset to jar himself awake again.

"He told me he loved me, he told me he loved me before he—" Shaun sagged forward, sobbing more into his pillow as he turned his head to the side. Before she could think about what she was really doing, Claire had dropped down to her knees beside his bed, reaching over and delicately putting one hand on his shoulder, the other arm draping around his back. He didn't react to her touch; she wouldn't be surprised if he didn't even really feel it in the first place. He just kept mumbling, his words thick with grief and regret, but getting fuzzier and fuzzier. "I never told him, I never told him I— why didn't I tell him? I wanted to tell him, now I can never tell him, I can never tell him…I can't…I can…never…"

His sobs and chokes, violent only for the briefest of moments, began to decay and die. His shoulders didn't shake as much, underneath Claire's hands, and the tormented expression that had been creasing over his face ebbed. Instead, he was allowed that relaxation and that respite. His head went slack and his face cleared into peace. Claire watched with a knife lodged deep in her heart as he finally fell asleep, and away from all of this. As his sobs and cries were swallowed up, and the only thing left to replace it was suffocating silence.

She stayed there she didn't know how long, still trying to offer him some kind of comfort he hadn't even registered when he was awake. Jared didn't move either; he stayed where he was, his mouth clamped tight in silence. Neither of them spoke. They were too afraid to. All they could do was stare emptily at their friend, their expressions blank, like they didn't even recognize him.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She was let off early, the next day. She guessed she was bad at hiding how tense she was; she'd been on pins and needles, just texting Jared and asking whether Shaun was doing any better. When four o' clock rolled around, Melendez had surprised her by rounding the corner and telling her she was free to go; that he didn't need her anymore. Which wasn't exactly true, she knew. It was a slower day…the most that they'd handled was a broken arm at eleven. But if it was any other day, under any normal circumstances, she knew that she would have been put to work elsewhere. Even if it was just to help reorganize patient files.

But Melendez had seen her worry, and the entire hospital had pretty much been looking at her with sympathy the past two days. Which was ridiculous, because if anybody needed sympathy right now, it was Shaun, not her. Any other time, and she might have fought the early dismissal. Now, she took it not a second after it was offered. She turned and rushed to her locker, to drop off her coat and pick up her things. She drove back to Glassman's house and let herself in again. This time, the place was completely silent when she came inside; there weren't even any voices in the kitchen, or in the living room. There was no echo of the TV from anywhere, either. The house was…well, dead.

But Jared's car was still in the driveway.

She did a lap downstairs and when she came up empty, she scaled the steps. She came up onto the next floor and she started to head for Shaun's room, when she stopped short and rethought her decision. She hesitated, but turned nevertheless, and went to Glassman's room instead. She felt out of place, like she was trespassing. And the feeling was only multiplied when she opened the door and found that her assumption had been true.

Shaun was sitting on the bed, his back to her as he faced the wall. The sheets and comforter were back in place— the bed was perfectly made again. She wondered if Jared had done it, or if Shaun had. There was no telling, but her heart was heavy when she staked her guess on the latter. Shaun had been staring at the wall of photos he'd put up what felt like ages ago. His arm was outstretched, and he was pulling one down. From here, she could see that it was a picture of him and Glassman at some kind of event. She wasn't sure what it was, but they were both dressed to the nines. Beside him was a stack of photos he'd already tugged down, and she realized that they were all like that: all of him and Glassman, or just Glassman.

She stiffened and her head snapped back up when she realized he'd turned back to look at her.

His eyes were bright red, and inflamed. Claire weakened when she realized that when he did turn back and meet her stare, it was done so coldly, and without any trace of friendliness, or welcome. He looked angry. Like he was daring to come in, or even speak. It took her breath away. He'd never looked at her like that. They were friends. She might have even classified them as best friends, by this point; they certainly spent enough time together every week, and they certainly got along well enough. The most he'd done to her before was look irritated at a joke she tried to tell him, or look exasperated when she and Jared got into fights about which out of the three of them would survive the longest in a horror movie.

Now, it was much more than that.

He looked appalled at the mere sight of her.

She ignored it as best she could. She tried to draft a smile onto her face. "Hey, Shaun," she said softly. He said nothing; if she didn't know him any better, she would have thought his eyes narrowed at her just the tiniest bit. Her mouth was dry, and she had to swallow before she went on. "I was just coming to see you, I…" Glaringly obvious between them, was the memory of the last time they had been in this room. How she had grabbed him and forced him back, despite the fact he'd hit and slapped and screamed at her to let him go. His accusation from last night rang in the back of her mind.

Shaun glared at her still, and, more to try and focus on anything else she could, Claire looked to the wall behind him. "What are you doing?" she asked.

He stared at her for a moment more, before he just turned back to the wall and kept pulling down photos. He was mute.

"Are you…wanting to make an album?" she asked. The longer Shaun ignored her, the worse she felt, and the harder it was to disguise. Her voice cracked, and she flinched inwardly. "I…I could help you make one, you know," she offered, trying to make her voice bright. "I'm great at making albums; I make them all the time. We could…make one together of just you and Glassman, if you want. I'm sure he would have—"

"Don't say it," Shaun snapped, before she had the chance. His voice was scratchy, coming out of a throat ruined from crying. He didn't glance back at her.

She jerked, as if she'd been slapped across the face. She closed her mouth, and felt her eyes sting at the clear rejection. Her hand was still on the doorknob, and it tightened significantly. She searched for something more she could say, but it didn't take long at all to realize it was useless. Right now, anyway. She ducked her head, in a cross between a nod and a defeat. "Okay," she rasped. Shaun didn't even react to her. She turned and shuffled out of the room, closing the door again behind her.

The shut seemed much louder than it actually was. Once she did close it, she stared unseeingly at the floor, her heart in her throat, which was now much hotter than it had been when she'd first come into the house. Her lips started to tremble, and she was just about to succumb to it all and start crying again, when a flush caught her attention instead. She sniffed and turned, heading down the hall to where the bathroom was. She knocked on the door and croaked: "Jared?" Did he know the state Shaun was in? He had to have.

"You can come in." The voice replied in a tone weighted down with exhaustion.

She found that the door hadn't been all the way closed to begin with. Frowning, she pushed her way inside to see Jared sitting on the ground by the toilet. Beside him, was the box of Glassman's medication that usually sat on his bedside table. Claire had been so distracted by what had happened between her and Shaun, she hadn't even noticed that it wasn't there anymore. Or maybe she'd just assumed it had been done away with, like all the other hospice things. But now she could see it was still here. But that wouldn't be the case for much longer.

Jared leaned to the side and plucked up yet another pill bottle. There were about twenty still left in the box, and there were numerous empty casings on the bathroom floor, to show that he'd been at this for a while. Once he uncapped this one, he turned and dumped its contents into the toilet. He chucked the empty bottle down with the rest of them when he was through, before reaching for another to repeat the process. Claire watched him numbly, silent. Before she asked in a tiny mumble: "What are you doing?" The technical answer was obvious. But she was asking about more than just that.

But at first it was the only part of the question Jared wanted to answer. "I'm throwing them all out," he said, his voice a little tighter than usual. He dumped away another bottle of Tramadol.

Claire's eyes tracked his every move. "Why?" she rasped. "Why not just throw them in the trash?"

Jared reached up and flushed again, to make sure he didn't accidentally clog it up. He sat back heavily and watched it all go down in silence, refusing to answer at first. When he did, his voice was steady and matter-of-fact, like he was talking about a patient, or a correct answer on a test and he was one-hundred percent certain of his words. Though he couldn't possibly be. "Because if we don't get rid of all it, and if we don't make sure it's gone, he's going to take it all, Claire."

He may as well have punched her in the face. The way he'd said it, too, so blunt and obvious, was enough to make her sick. She stiffened, and when she replied, her voice was strained and tense. "N- No, he's not," she blustered, her eyes widening. Jared didn't look up at her. He just grabbed another bottle of pain medication and dumped that one out, too. Her eyes narrowed, and she fought harder, as if she was defending her friend. "No, he's not, Jared, he wouldn't do that. He wouldn't ever do that, in a million years, he wouldn't." Jared flashed her a look that was openly skeptical, and it made her even more worked up. Tears made their way down her face somehow, and she pressed even harder, her voice hitching: "He wouldn't, Jared, he—"

She choked off. She hadn't thought he would ever glare at her like that before now, either, but it had just happened. She hadn't thought he would ever get drunk and yell, and look at how last night had gone. She hadn't thought his eyes could be so red and puffy, and she hadn't thought her friend, usually so bubbly and optimistic, could stare into space for so long, so sadly, or scream and cry so loudly. She hadn't thought he would do any of what he had so far. And she hadn't even been with him as long as Jared had.

She wanted to defend him. She wanted nothing more than to call Jared stupid for even entertaining such an idea— to yell at him for thinking their friend could ever do such a thing. To wave it all off and rush forward and snatch the box away from him, because there actually wasn't a danger in just throwing it all away in a trashcan, where it might be easily retrieved and dug out during the night.

She wanted to do all of that.

But she found, standing there, that she couldn't.

She couldn't deny the fear, and the fact that she felt it herself made her cry even more.

Reluctantly, she let go of the door and walked the rest of the way into the small room. She sat down on the opposite side of the toilet, looking at Jared miserably to see that her expression was already there on his face. She said nothing, and neither did he. They just turned back down to the floor, and, working together now, kept flushing the medication down the drain.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"We won't be here for much longer." This was about the third time the reassurance was offered in the past two hours. Which was kind of counter-productive. Shaun was staring at the floor, for lack of anything better to do. It was either staring at the floor, or staring at the house packed with strangers, and he wasn't really on board for the latter. He didn't know anyone at all, except for the person that was standing by him. He was dressed in the stuffy suit he had worn only once before. Sadness was thick in the air, like maple syrup. Not too many people were smiling; when they tried, it looked awkward and fake. The people that were speaking were speaking lowly, more like whispers.

"I promise," Glassman went on, and Shaun looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "As soon as I speak to him, we can go." Shaun wasn't doing such a good job of showing that he didn't want to be here. But he couldn't be left home alone, so here he was, dragged along. He was standing a little closer than he normally did to Glassman, eyeing all the strangers with open doubt. Glassman saw this and seemed to feel even more contrite, because he explained himself again. Even though Shaun had heard the entire spiel twice now. "I haven't spoken to Adam in so long…not since his wedding, right out of medical school. But he was a close friend, back then."

Shaun wrung his hands together. He couldn't blame Glassman for wanting to be here; he just wished he didn't have to be here, too. The last time had been to a funeral, it had been his brother's, and the fact had taken his stomach and twisted it all around throughout the entire thing. He had sat by Glassman during the funeral and remembered what his brother's service had looked like, and when the casket was lowered into the ground, he had to look away. Now, they were back at the house of the family who had lost the woman they'd mourned. The husband and the son were around here somewhere, lost among the people attempting to somehow make things better. Though Shaun didn't really see how such a thing was possible.

Words didn't amount to much.

Glassman studied him and asked a little worriedly: "Shaun, are you doing o—?"

"Aaron!" The both of them turned at the sound of his name. Shaun edged even closer to him, stepping back a little bit, when he saw the son of the deceased weaving through the crowd towards him. He still looked sad, but there was a worn smile on his face. Glassman smiled too, and Shaun watched in silence as they said hello. It was the usual 'I'm so sorry's and 'I haven't seen you in forever's, until Adam's attention drifted, and he looked down at Shaun with a friendly grin. The young boy immediately looked away. "No way!" he exclaimed, a bit of laughter edging his words. "I know it's been a while, but this little guy isn't yours, is he?" Apparently he thought the question was more rhetorical, because he added for good measure: "He looks a lot like you."

Shaun's shoulders curled inward, his expression weakening. Glassman rushed a little too quickly to right the wrong. "No, he's not mine. Or— he is mine, but he's not— it's not like—" He tried to smile; Shaun, on the other hand, wasn't making it a question at all on how miserable he was. The two probably looked a sight together, for anyone that was witnessing this interaction. Finally, Glassman stumbled onto something that was halfway decent. "I brought him along, I hope that's okay." Which was a pretty horrible thing to eventually land on, but there was no taking it back once it was out.

Adam looked perplexed, and probably rightly so. But with another glance at Shaun, who was looking anywhere else, he abandoned the question. He turned back to Glassman instead, and they fell into their own conversation. Catching up, and offering sympathies, and reminiscing. Shaun was silent and stood obediently, waiting it all out. At one point he looked back at Adam, if only to see whether or not he was almost done talking. But his eyes got drawn to something else, and he frowned when he noticed that on his suit, he was wearing a small ribbon. It was pinned in place firmly on his left side— over his heart. Or, not where your heart actually was, but in the spot where people usually point to and say that it is.

Its fabric was torn.

When they were finally able to excuse themselves and leave the family's home, Shaun spoke up as they trailed back to the car. "Why was he wearing that ribbon? Did he not know it was ripped?"

Glassman looked back at him. He hesitated before he answered. "It's a common rite," he began with a sigh. "The family of the deceased gather before the funeral. They can either tear a part of their clothing, or they can wear a torn ribbon. Children wear their ribbons on the left side. Every other family member wears their ribbons on the right. And they keep it on up until a week after the funeral. It's to commemorate their mourning. How things…are broken right now, but eventually they can be relieved of it, when they get to take it off."

Shaun took this in. He frowned. After a beat of hesitation, he broached: "Does it help?"

Glassman pursed his lips. "I don't know," he confessed. "I guess it depends on the opinion of whoever is wearing it."

. . . .

Shaun stared down at himself, his chest yawning in pain. He wasn't listening to anything. Or…he was, but it wasn't connecting. Which was wrong, he knew, and it just made him angrier at himself. But he couldn't help it. Listening to it all just made him sicker— it just made his tears fall faster. At least this way, he could pretend he wasn't as upset as he really was. Like what was happening…actually wasn't. He just kept his eyes down, staring at the ribbon that was affixed to his suit jacket.

The ribbon that was torn, and pinned to his left, over his heart.

It was colder than normal. Every so often, he would shiver. He was standing more at the front of the group that was gathered. His eyes flickered up from his chest, and he looked to the gravestone, instead. Something lodged hard in his throat. His gaze went to the casket that had already been lowered. Words had been spoken, already— words that Shaun hadn't registered. But now, when Shaun had chosen to look up, these last few words did correlate, and make sense. He just almost wished they didn't. "Now, it is traditional for every mourner to place dirt into the grave. We have a shovel here you may use, if you prefer. All we care about is your sense of closure." The rabbi was standing by the gravestone, but now he was looking with a broad smile at those who were there.

Nobody moved at first. There was an empty kind of silence to create a void, instead. The rabbi turned and looked to Shaun questioningly. He was rooted in place. To his relief, Jared stepped forward. Up until now he had been standing at Shaun's side, Claire standing by his. Now he stepped forward, slow and purposeful. He ducked his head a bit to the rabbi, and he went to take the shovel from him. His stare looked almost as heavy as the shovel was when he turned and dug its head down into the pile. He turned and let the dirt fell delicately over the wooden coffin. Then he stood at the cusp of the hole for a brief heartbeat, his eyes raw with pain as he lingered over the burial site.

Claire came forward next, and she took the shovel from him. A few tears dripped silently and stoically down her cheeks as she placed another shovelful of dirt down. And from there, the routine was gathered, and it was only a brief pause in between each person who marched forward. Shaun watched in silence as each person came and went, his vision blurring more and more. Melendez, wearing a crisp black suit, detached from the crowd and glanced almost worriedly at Shaun as he grabbed the shovel. He threw another load of dirt on, and Aoki took up the duty after him. Doctor Lim came forward as well, her expression drawn in sorrow.

There were far more people there— people that Shaun didn't know, and didn't want to know. They all wore the same looks of grief on their faces, and they all put in their shovel of dirt. More and more, until Shaun couldn't make out the grain of the coffin anymore. Until it was shrouded entirely, and the hole was almost filled. A third of the dirt was left to be shoveled, when nobody else came forward. The pause stretched longer, until it was clear that all the volunteering was through. The rabbi hesitated, letting the gap stretch for just a bit longer. His eyes went to Shaun. Still, he was unmoving.

The man nodded, and he opened his mouth again to speak. To take the last of the burden upon himself, instead. When, without word, Shaun walked forward. His hands had been wringing together with enough force to make his knuckles white, but all the same, the rabbi extended the shovel towards him. He blinked, and looked down at the tool like he'd never seen it before. He could feel all eyes on him, and he wished nobody else was here. He wished he could be alone.

After a moment, he bypassed the shovel. He walked around the man, until he was on the side of the grave, where the rest of the dirt was piled. It was much less than it had been before. Gingerly, despite the clothes he was wearing, Shaun dropped down to his knees. He was still for a moment more, taking one last look at the grave. Before he leaned over and scooped out a handful of dirt to let slip through his fingers. And he proceeded just like that. It wasn't the quickest route of filling the hole, and it wasn't nearly the cleanest, either, but for once, Shaun didn't care about either. He just continued to draw out the task, mournful and ridden with sorrow with every toss of dirt. The crowd looked on in sorrow, but nobody moved to help him. They knew it wasn't their place.

Once all the dirt was finally handed down, the grass was laid over and flattened to try and make it seem like nothing at all had been disturbed. But Shaun could see the slight hill it still retained. He could see that it wasn't the same— that it wasn't hidden. That something had happened there, even though he desperately wished that nothing had. There was another prayer that was said, and then there was the supposedly-heartfelt parting and wishing of better luck, though Shaun knew the rabbi spoke it to everyone that had been in this graveyard. It wasn't genuine at all— it was required. So Shaun didn't react to it, when the man said goodbye to him in particular. He didn't even rise; he stayed where he was, immobile, staring at the place they had laid Glassman to rest.

One by one, everyone left. The people Shaun didn't know left first. The kind-of-familiar faces lingered, as if they were unsure how much longer they were supposed to stay. Eventually, they left, too. Usually after these services, there was a party thrown…Shaun wasn't going to do that. It wasn't a celebration. He wouldn't have people over just so he could listen to them talk and joke and laugh in the absence of someone who had been so important to him. He didn't want to pretend to care about what they felt or thought or did, because he really couldn't possibly care less. Most of these people hadn't visited Glassman when he was alive, in hospice— why should Shaun be obligated to make them feel good for showing their faces now?

Melendez had been standing in a cluster with Claire and Jared, speaking lowly. Shaun couldn't hear them – not that he wanted to – and he had felt his attending's stare drill over to him more than once. So when he came forward, it wasn't a surprise. It was more of a surprise when he moved to sit down beside him. Though Shaun didn't look at him, or show the tiny shock. Silence bridged for a long moment, before Melendez asked softly: "Are you okay?"

Shaun's throat hurt, like someone was strangling him. He remembered standing in the ER of the hospital, looking around Melendez to Avery and her gunshot wound, hearing the same question demanded, only a little harder. 'Are you okay?' That was the same day that Glassman had first started treating him differently. The day he'd rushed into the OR in the remnants of panic, only to breathe: 'Oh Shaun, you're alright…' The day that marked their downhill, where they had lost so much time together… Glassman's voice, weak and fragile, echoed in the back of his mind: 'I lost so much time with you…'

The word stuck on his way out. "No."

Melendez didn't seem surprised. He still wasn't looking at him, which Shaun was grateful for. After a period of contemplation, the elder asked simply: "Do you want your hand held?" At first, Shaun was more confused than anything else. Before he recognized he wasn't asking it in the literal sense. He had told Melendez before, on that day they had the shooting, he didn't need comfort because he didn't like his hand held. Here he was, repeating the question, more openly this time. More gently. He fumbled for something to say. Because the reflex answer of 'no' was bottled on the tip of his tongue; something stopped him.

'You'll have people there, for you…Claire, and Jared, and even Melendez. Promise me you'll use that support system, if you need it, Shaun. I know you don't like to ask for help. But you have to promise me, so I know you'll be okay…'

Tears blinded him, and he looked down at his lap, to try and hide it. He wasn't okay. If he wasn't okay now, how could he be okay later? When Steve had died, it had taken ages for him to move past it, and that had been with the help of Glassman, accepted only little by little. Now that Glassman was gone…what did he have? He turned and looked up again to see that Jared and Claire had drifted closer. His eyes found Claire's, and she immediately seemed distressed at the fact. She was hugging herself, as if she was cold, and she looked like she was in pain. She was remorseful and rueful and everything in between.

It caused guilt to clamp hard around Shaun's throat. Because he knew he was the reason for the reaction.

He didn't look away from Claire, whose face fell more when he began. "I…made a promise to him," he managed, already finding difficulty in getting it out. He remembered the vow he had made before that one, and he backtracked. "I made two…and I haven't kept either of them. I promised…I wouldn't think bad things about myself…" Claire weakened, her heart breaking in her eyes. "And I promised I would ask for help if I needed it…and to know that there were other people that could be with me." He blinked, and it caused tears to fall down his face. He found it useless to wipe them away. "He made me promise to do both of those things…when I told him I did promise…I didn't think it would be this hard." His voice broke on this last part.

Melendez's expression was a cross between thoughtful and gentle. It was weird; Shaun had never seen him look like that before. It was quiet for a very long time. Before Melendez's forehead creased and he said: "Two little birds told me I might lose you as a resident." Both Claire and Jared stiffened at the giveaway. Shaun stiffened out of nervousness. But when Melendez continued, his voice was just as plain— he wasn't angry, or upset. He was just practical. "I don't…pretend to know how you feel, or pretend to know where things will go from here. But…I can say without a doubt that the hospital would be lesser off, without you in it, Shaun."

Shaun blinked. Again, more tears fell.

Melendez tilted his head to the side. That thought was growing thicker on his face. "You know…I was furious when Glassman persuaded everyone to hire you. Heck, I was pissed. That whole time, I was saying you shouldn't be brought on board— even when you saved that kid with your echocardiogram. And I stayed pissed, for ages. I didn't even try to hide it." He looked back at him. "So, yeah, Shaun, maybe nobody wanted you there other than him, at first. I won't lie to you, and say that's wrong. But that was just because he was ten times the person we were. It was because he knew more than we did, and he just knew he had to wait for us to catch up. And we did. Slowly, because you annoy me constantly, on a daily basis…but we did." This part was obviously a joke. "So if you left now, Shaun, you would be leaving behind an entire hospital that's grown to respect and need you. It's as simple as that. You can quit, you can stay. I don't have a say either way. None of us do. We can just tell you that we don't want you to." He paused, before: "I don't want you to."

Shaun's eyes were dragged back to the grave. Again, he noticed the slight bump that was in the middle.

"Glassman was right when he said you had other people that could help you," Melendez continued. "And you've got a hospital full of them waiting for you." He shrugged one shoulder. "I wouldn't be very quick to throw that all away, if I was you." Claire's eyes were flickering between her friend and her teacher; her shoulders were tense as she waited for Shaun to react. And she only got tenser when he added: "You're a lot like him, you know." Shaun stirred, and his eyes lifted from the ground at the compliment. Though he still didn't look at him. "I guess it makes sense. But you're both…annoyingly moral. You both…see the best in people, and you're both brilliant at what you do. But I think…more importantly…you both never quit. Ever. It's kind of annoying, actually.

"Glassman didn't quit when he was trying to hire you; he stood, and he talked for hours. Everyone complained. They were planning a munity, actually. And he didn't quit towards the end, either. He stayed around for much longer than any of us thought he would. Because he wasn't a quitter. And I know you're not a quitter, either, Shaun." This hung in the air between them. Shaun finally looked at him, weakening into himself. Melendez offered him a smile, which he never did unless Shaun had gotten an answer right, or performed a procedure correctly. Shaun held his stare before he looked down at his hands again, in his lap. He didn't reply, and a sense of finality was left to wedge between them.

Melendez nodded once. He pushed himself up and dusted himself off. He turned and started down the graveyard again, the way he'd come. It left only Claire and Jared. Claire frowned and looked down at her hands. Jared put own down into his pockets. Silence festered like a disease between them, and Shaun slowly grew stiffer and stiffer. His shoulders curled, and a flinch crept over his expression. Eventually, he managed to choke something out. It was quiet, but in the silence, he may as well have yelled. "I'm sorry."

Claire closed her eyes. "You…you don't have to apologize, Shaun," she mumbled.

"N- yes I do," he rejected. Her chest constricted when he rose his heartbroken eyes to hers. "He…was already dead when I woke up. Maybe…if I had been awake, I could have done something. But by the time you got there, it was too late. It wasn't your fault he died. I shouldn't be mad at you. And I'm sorry I was. I just…" He broke off, swallowing hard again. His eyes teared even more, and his lower lip began to shake. His legs tucked tighter to himself, and his voice splintered into pieces when he cried: "I just don't want to do this, again."

Claire hesitated for only a second before she walked away from Jared, mimicking Melendez and taking a seat beside her friend. Her own voice came out choked. "It wasn't your fault, either, Shaun," she breathed. "It was nobody's fault. You know that…right?" Shaun said nothing; he just kept studying the grass. He looked miserable, and run-down. Not at all like the friend she knew. He hadn't looked like her friend for quite a long time, now… She leaned over and gently put her hand down on top of his, lightly, so she could pull away if he immediately reacted at her touch, or so he could snatch his hand backwards himself. But he didn't move. "We're here for you, Shaun," she reassured him, and she thought she saw him weaken even more at the promise. "We haven't gone anywhere, and we're still not."

Shaun glanced at her, his eyes full of tears. He swallowed and looked back at the tombstone. Softly, he whispered: "…Thank you."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Two days later, Claire was staying with Shaun at Glassman's house still, and Shaun was still not going to work. So far, he hadn't even mentioned work, yet. They hadn't revisited whether or not he was really giving up surgery for good. Mostly, they were just picking up the pieces. Both of Shaun's life, and the relationship between them, which had fractured over everything that had happened. Shaun was quieter than normal around her, and he was still sad. Every so often, he would repeat his apology, sometimes out of the blue, looking just as guilty as the first time he'd said it. Every time, she reassured him it was alright, and that she understood. He'd just turn away with a mournful expression.

She had caught him staring sadly like that more times than not. Over dinner, which he pecked at like a bird, she would glance up to see him looking off into space, sadly, like he was still staring down at Glassman's gravestone. He didn't sleep much still; the bags under his eyes weren't going anywhere. He was stuck in a rut. She was worried he was losing weight, in between the lack of appetite and stress. But at least he was functioning again, and not shutting everyone out as much as he had.

He didn't just sit in Glassman's room; when he was in there, it was with Claire, and they were boxing up his things, or cleaning— readying the house to sell. The two of them had stayed up late one night to compile all the photos of him and Glassman into one book, like she'd offered before. He was keeping that with him; she'd already seen it open on his bedside table, walking past his room. She didn't question it, though; she didn't question anything he did anymore, and she didn't find as much concern as she had that first few days, when he had really fallen apart. He was getting better, and he was dealing with things more. He was still sad, but he was learning to go on despite it. Her job was to make it easier to breathe around that choking loss. Not make it harder.

Right now, they were in the hallway, silently working to clear out more things from as many rooms as they could. Things they could throw out, or keep for themselves, or donate, or give to others, since Glassman had apparently told Shaun that there were a few things in particular he wanted certain people to have. Shaun hadn't written them down, but they were committed to memory. Every so often she would dig something out, and he would rush over, stressed as he snatched it away from her with a tiny "Not that." Currently, on Claire's wrist, she was wearing a tiny bead bracelet. Apparently, it had been Maddie's, and Glassman had asked Shaun to make sure she received it. When he'd given it to her, she'd gotten choked, and had to leave so that she wouldn't cry in front of him.

She'd come back now, though, ready to continue their work. She knew she had to keep going, just like Shaun was. Boxes were lining the hallway, and they were going from room to room, stepping gingerly around the other and not exactly meeting gazes.

It was a dreary and sad task. But it would be even sadder had Shaun not set his phone up on the banister and played music for them while they carried it out. Which she could only guess was more for her sake than his, considering he didn't like music all that much. But it could be halfway for him, too. This was the playlist he'd made for Glassman, when he was still alive, of all the songs he used to like to listen to. He'd told her about it, when he'd first arranged it all. Whenever Claire glanced over in his direction, she could see that he looked a little more pained, with certain songs. She wondered what kind of memories were attached to them. She'd told him if he preferred it, he could turn it off. But, softly, he'd rejected her offer. He'd said it was fine.

So she just listened and kept rifling through closets and drawers. They were trying to sperate it all as best they could, and get some sort of organization going. Shaun had decided to throw out all the sympathy cards he'd received, so she was doing that, too, whenever she came across one. It was easier to listen to the music rather than concentrate fully on the fact that she was handling her old friend's personal possessions, to figure out their final destination. When she wasn't close by Shaun, she would hum a little bit along with the songs she recognized, to distract herself even more. She'd been humming along to the song that was currently playing, when suddenly a realization dawned on her and she grinned, a tiny giggle escaping her as she walked out of his bedroom with another medical textbook they could donate.

Shaun was crouched down the hall over one of the boxes of clothing. When he heard her laughter, his eyes lifted for her; on the left side of his shirt was still that torn ribbon he'd worn at the funeral. He set down the shirt he was folding, and his head tilted to the side. "What?"

Claire looked up in faint alarm; she hadn't realized she'd actually laughed out loud. Guilt was quick to crowd over her face, and she cleared her throat, her forehead creasing a bit when she looked back at Shaun's phone. "Oh— uh, it's nothing, I'm sorry, I…" Too late, it was dawning she'd been a bit insensitive, given what they were doing. "Forget it," she tried to brush off. But Shaun was looking at her blankly, so she pasted a grin on her face as she gestured yet again to the phone. "It's just— this song," she tried. "I'm surprised it's on here."

Shaun followed her point. "I heard him listen to it once," he offered. "I don't know if he really liked it. I just tried to pick as many songs as I could." He started to look back to his folding, when he stopped, apparently finding that there was too much of a smile still on Claire's face. Or, he didn't say it outright, but she felt the way his eyes stabbed back to her. At least he wasn't angry, anymore; he was just curious. She wasn't sure she should bring it up, though. Over the days she'd been here helping, there hadn't been much conversational talk. There hadn't been any joking, or laughing. Mostly, it was just controlled back-and-forth, as a means of calming or filling the quiet so it didn't take over the whole house.

So she felt a little weird, and hesitant, like she shouldn't. But after a moment her grin cracked again, and she prompted: "Have you listened to it before? It's a classic." Shaun shook his head. She turned and sat down her load. She smiled as her arms crossed over her chest. "I mean, it's not a big deal, but I just laughed because…I mean, you could fit into this song pretty well, I think." His nose wrinkled up at this, and she had to stifle another giggle, and try not to show how much relief the simple look of confusion gave her. He looked like his old self, in that tiniest second, as his grief was burned away to be replaced by puzzlement. "Did you notice that?"

"No," he replied immediately. "I haven't."

She laughed more. "Oh, come on! It's too easy!" His sadness didn't come right back, and so she started to grow more resolve and flash him a bigger smile. She waited for the right part of the song, and she started to hop a little closer to him. She reached up and clapped along with the beat, feeling a little ridiculous. Though Shaun's stare wasn't helping the thought go away. "Oh, Murphy, you're so fine, you're so fine, you blow my mind, hey Murphy! Hey Murphy!" He blinked and looked back at the phone, as if he could blame this encounter now on the device. She laughed even louder, and bent over more at the waist. "Oh, Murphy, you're so fine, you're so fine, you blow my mind, hey Murphy!"

Without warning, she grabbed Shaun's hands and yanked him up to his feet. His eyes flew wide, and he froze, too stunned to do anything else. Claire grinned even more and bounced around him, pulling out her best dance moves, which were regrettably not much. And she kept singing along, her eyes brighter now than they had been for some time. Her heart feeling lighter than it had for some time. "Oh, Murphy, what a pity, you don't understand! You take me by the heart, when you take me by the hand! Oh, Murphy, you're so pretty, can't you understand? It's guys like you, Murphy! Oh, what you do, Murphy, do, Murphy, don't break my heart, Murphy!"

Shaun was eyeing her as she flailed her arms and bounced, breaking out forms of the disco or the sprinkler, or some weird hybrid of the two of them. At first he looked confused, but whirling around in a twirl, Claire realized he was slowly beginning to lighten just the tiniest bit. And it was all the encouragement she needed. Biting back on her laughter, she swooped over and grabbed his hands again. And she pulled him into a dance with her. It was nothing special— just twirling and jumping to the music. If anything else, it was just awkward. But that was what made it fun, and she kept singing as they whirled around, trying to steer clear of the boxes on the ground. "Oh, Murphy, what a pity, you don't understand! You take me by the heart, when you take me by the hand! Oh, Murphy, you're so pretty, can't you understand? It's guys like you, Murphy! Oh, what you do, Murphy, do Murphy, don't break my heart, Murphy!"

Shaun was struggling to keep up with her; apparently, he had two left feet. Despite the fast tempo and the fact that he may as well have been wearing swimming flippers, though, Claire melted with relief and affection when she saw Shaun's face had broken out into a smile. He held her hands tightly as they danced, and as she kept singing, laughter bubbled up from his chest to warm the air of the cold house. Actual laughter. Not drunk laughter, or bitter laughter, but actual, happy laughter. His old laughter. One she had missed dearly. One that nearly made her cry, just to hear it again, no matter how tiny it was.

They kept dancing and laughing. One of the first moments that were actually happy again. That felt normal, or at least the closest they'd gotten so far. Claire was beaming, and she kept singing, leading their dance and just hoping neither of them fell and broke a leg. "Oh, Murphy, what a pity, you don't understand! You take me by the heart when you take me by the hand…!"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She reached up and fished out the two mugs from the microwave. She put tea bags in the hot water and let them seep for a while, before she turned and made back for the door. It was a little bit of a hassle for her to step outside while she juggled the cups, but she did it. And immediately, she was chilled from the burst of wind that met her. It was raining, like it had been raining all day today, and all night, so far. Shaun was sitting on the porch, on the edge of the first step. It was underneath the safety of the roof, but if he stood and walked just a foot farther out, he'd be soaking.

Claire let the door shut behind her, and she walked over to take the seat beside him again. She turned and handed him the tea; just holding the cup offered comforting warmth. The rain had made the temperature drop about twelve degrees, or at least it felt like it. Shaun must have shared her thoughts, because rather than drink it, all he did was bring the cup close to his chest. His eyes were trained fixedly ahead. Claire sipped her tea and listened to the drumming of the raindrops. She let Shaun decide when to break the silence. Eventually, he did. "It was raining the day I met him," he recalled, in barely a murmur.

"Yeah?" Claire asked. She smiled, just a bit. "Was it as cold as it is now?"

Shaun considered the question. "It was colder," he decided.

She hummed under her breath. Her eyes softened. "It must have been nice. To meet someone so special, in such awful weather. It makes it easier to swallow. Just a little bit warmer."

"I didn't know he was special, then," Shaun argued.

"You never know when you meet someone special," she argued. "That's part of why they're so special. You meet them, and you get to know them…and one day you realize they're one of the most important people you've ever known. When before, when you first met them, you didn't even think twice about them." She frowned at this, and looked down at her tea. She turned to Shaun, slowly becoming crestfallen. "I'm guilty of doing that," she confessed. Shaun tore his gaze away from the rain, to focus on her. She deflated at the look on his face. "What you said a few days ago, Shaun…I did dismiss you when we first met. I thought you were…well, I don't know what I thought. Something horrible…"

She closed her eyes briefly, and she took in a quicker breath. "And I really regret that; I regret it so much. Every day. You were right that at first, I didn't treat you with the respect you deserved. Or cared about you. But that was only at first, Shaun. I know it shouldn't have happened at all…but it was only then. And I regret it, still. But you were wrong about the rest of what you said. I didn't just start talking to you because you were hired, and I didn't have a choice. I started to talking to you because you were smart, and you were nice, and sweet. I started being your friend because I wanted to. And I started caring about you because I wanted to."

Shaun looked back at his drink. His stare was heavy.

"You're my friend, Shaun," she pressed, keeping her voice soft. "You're one of my best friends, actually. You and Jared both. And if you don't come back to work, I'll miss you. I won't even care that the number of residents will be dropped, because I'll just care that I lost my friend." She said her next part teasingly. "And if you're doing it just in the hopes of getting rid of me, you'll have to rethink it a bit, because I'll still come and bother you, whether you're stilling working at Saint Bonaventure or not." Shaun was mute. She was too, but only for a few moments. Before she dared to hedge forward and ask again, for the first time in a couple days: "Are you going to come back to work?"

Shaun took his time in answering. "I don't know," he rasped. "I don't know what to do."

She looked back front. At the puddles and the mud and all the mess in front of them. Thunder rumbled in the distance. "Well…I'll be there for you," she murmured eventually. "For whatever you choose. If you want me to be."

Shaun managed a nod. The pair fell in silence again. At least this one was more comfortable. Or maybe it was just because it had the buffer of the raindrops there, as well. When Shaun spoke again, his voice was more choked. His eyes were beginning to ring over with the faintest hint of water. He was getting better at keeping himself composed. Or maybe, after all of this, he'd just run out of tears. Whatever the reason, there was less heat to sting his eyes. He was able to breathe easier, but he couldn't keep all of the pained choke out of his voice once it came. "I miss him," he confessed weakly. Claire's eyes flickered to him. He took in a punctured breath. "I miss him and…I don't think I'm ever going to not. I don't think this feeling is ever going to go away."

She nodded, the gesture slow. "It might not ever go away," she reasoned. "But it might get easier to carry. I think it's a good thing, if you never stop missing a person. I mean…if you did stop missing them, then they wouldn't have been very important to you, right?" He said nothing, but his grip on his mug tightened. "It might hurt a lot…and it might never stop hurting…but that's how you know you had someone very special. That's how you know they meant something, and that they'll always mean something." She looked at her friend and offered him the gentlest smile she could muster. "It's not a bad thing, Shaun," she reassured. "It's not a bad thing to cry, or be upset— it's not a weakness, when you are. It's the opposite. Because you keep going with it, no matter how much it hurts. You're strong. Even though one of your legs isn't working, you still walk. It's a lot to ask of someone. But I know you can do it."

He hesitated. "And if I can't?"

But she was ready for the question, and her smile only grew. "Then we'll do all the walking for you."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Okay, I'm just saying, I didn't need to take half the classes I took in undergrad that were 'required' to be a doctor," Jared grumbled, firm on proving his point. "I mean— at my school, I had to take a mythology class. Can you believe that? It was ridiculous; I could have been taking another science course, but instead I had to sit there and commit a bunch of Greek gods to memory. I had to try and remember…some stupid myth about a coyote being the reason that all of mankind dies. What good does that do me, now? It was a waste of time. And I had about five classes like that, at the very least. Let's see…I had to take a creative writing course. Right? And an economics class. How stupid is that?"

"Economics is important to understand. You learn about the relationship between supply and demand, and quantity demanded, and quantity supplied. You learn about capital, and The Law of Diminishing Returns, and price ceilings, and price floors, and—"

"Okay," Jared interrupted. "But tell me how any one of those things possibly matters, right here in this moment."

A tiny gap of silence, before: "This conversation has diminishing returns."

Claire snorted outright at the comeback. Jared looked at Shaun with an expression that was probably supposed to be furious. But he was too impressed to look angry, as a smile hinted on the edges of his lips. Shaun was fighting the satisfied grin he always had when he made a successful joke, even though that last thing hadn't really meant to be a joke. Jared jabbed a finger at him as he went back to sip at his coffee. "You, Shaun Murphy…you're just rude," he scoffed. Claire shot him a look of mock anger, and he shook his head again. "Rude," he repeated. "You're egregious, is what you are."

Shaun turned, worming out his phone to check the time. When his unspoken question was answered in a flurry of pagers going off. Each of them wormed theirs out immediately. Claire stood up from the table, and Jared set his coffee down. Shaun did not move, but his eyes flashed. "It's time!" Jared chirped, pushing off the wall. "Last one there gets to stand by and watch!" No sooner did he say this did he rush out of the small break room, making down the hall with enough speed to readily ensure he would not be the one bearing that punishment.

Claire got up and started after, looking back at Shaun. "You coming?" she asked, a certain level of sympathy in her eyes already.

Shaun nodded. But he walked purposefully so that he was a step behind Claire the entire time. By the time they met Melendez in the hall, he was the last one there, and the one to uptake the audience position. Which was more than fine; for once, being a spectator was all he wanted to be. Melendez led the way inside the hospital room to meet their patient, and the young girl that was standing beside the bed. The smile Shaun had had before was now dashed entirely, and as he looked between the two, a certain level of sorrow seemed to ghost in the back of his stare.

The routine wasn't anything Shaun didn't know, or even could have done himself. Melendez spoke to the patient in a crisp and business-like tone, about how the surgery went well, and the transplant was now considered a success. That they were going to take the man off the ventilator now so that they could see for sure that the new lungs were able to work on their own. Shaun listened in silence, fully aware that Claire's eyes flickered to him more than just once. The patient listened attentively, which was to be expected, since he couldn't speak. Ever since the surgery, they'd been breathing through a tube. Now it was time to see it was pulled off.

Jared was given the honors of taking out the tube. He did it all correctly; he wormed it out with care, and requested the patient cough to ease its way. The team of doctors waited in silence, then, for the man to take in his own air. At first, he wasn't able to. He choked, like you did whenever you got winded, and couldn't get your body to obey you. Shaun's grip on the clipboard he was holding in his hands tightened, and his stomach began to knot as he watched the patient try and wheeze in air, only to come up with nothing. His throat began to burn, and his own lungs suddenly refused to work properly. His eyes glazed over with just the tiniest amount of water.

This patient in particular he had been watching like a hawk this entire time, only from the sidelines. Any help he had been given had been fed to Melendez, or Jared, or Claire, to do, instead of him. He didn't want any direct part in it. But it didn't mean he wasn't breathing down their neck— it was just unbeknownst to them. The patient was male, forty-one years of age, with a daughter named Elizabeth, and COPD. They'd found a match for him, for a pair of brand-new lungs. Shaun had willingly stayed on suction for the surgery, simply watching it unfold in silence, and not opening his mouth once. Now, he was just as tight-lipped, waiting with growing panic for him to breathe again. His fingers were closing harder and harder around the clipboard.

Until finally, the man managed it. Shaun melted with relief as air finally worked its way down his trachea, and he took a full, deep breath. A breath on his own, and unhindered by his severer condition. Immediately, his daughter lit up like the sun. She covered her mouth with a tiny gasp, and tears were already working their way into her eyes. "You did it!" Her voice was about two octaves higher. "You saved him! You really saved him!" she cheered, and Shaun looked away. Claire's eyes found their way to him once more. Elizabeth rushed around the room, to give everyone hugs. She even wrapped Shaun up in an embrace, who, of course, did not return it. "Thank you, thank you so much!" she cried. She drew back just enough to give him a dazzling smile. Another thing he couldn't return. "You saved my dad, thank you!"

. . . .

"Why did you become a doctor?" Shaun asked eventually, breaking the silence in a fashion untypical to him. Usually he liked the silence, and let it stew. Glassman seemed to like it too, so more often than not, they just sat in the quiet and enjoyed it. Up until this point, the only sound had been the sound of water bubbling down over rocks. They'd gone hiking this morning and had stopped here by the river to take a break. Shaun was trying to figure out how to skip rocks across the bank. It was taking more finesse than he'd anticipated, but he wasn't giving up.

Glassman was sitting behind him on a rock, being a silent spectator to the boy's efforts in getting the rock to hop, rather than just sink. He was surprised by the question, going by the look that came over his face. Shaun hoped the inquiry wasn't out of line. He just never asked it before, and he'd been wondering. Thankfully, when Glassman replied, his voice was even. "Same as any other doctor, I guess," he mused. "To save people's lives."

He turned around to look at Glassman head-on, and he tilted his head to the side. "Have you saved a lot of people?" he asked.

"Oh, sure."

Shaun smiled. "Have you saved all of your patients?"

Glassman's own smile faltered, and instead, he looked sad. But he kept half of his smile alive, even when he shook his head. "No," he replied. When Shaun began to wilt in disappointment, he got up from the rock he'd been perched on, starting forward so he could stand beside him. He shoved his hands into his pockets and studied the water, thought writing over his face. "You can't save everyone, Shaun. Nobody ever has; it's impossible. It's one of the first things you have to understand when you become a doctor— you're going to lose people. You're going to lose a lot of people."

Shaun blinked, and followed his gaze to the water. His face fell. "That's sad," he murmured.

"It is," Glassman reasoned. "But it's a fact. People die, Shaun, and there's not much you can do about it, sometimes. Sometimes, even though you try your hardest, something happens, or they just don't make it." He looked at the teenager, who was fixated on the water, still. He took in a quick breath and continued, making his voice more bracing. "But it gets easier and easier, if you know that, and if you keep it in mind. And…you do save a lot of other people. And hopefully the number of people you save is bigger than the number you couldn't. You keep those closer to your heart than you do the deaths. And you know that, even if you can't do it all, you do a lot, and that's enough."

Shaun was quiet for a long while. Eventually, he all but whispered: "I think I want to be a doctor."

"Really?" Glassman feigned surprise. His eyes were soft when he looked down at him. Shaun was still wringing the rock between his hands. "I never would have guessed." He grinned, and added for good measure: "You would make a fantastic doctor, Shaun. You already look through all the books I have…just for fun. The world had better watch out for when you're actually required to read them."

Shaun did a tiny double-take. In the face of the agreement, so readily given, he blanched. He had never once told his own father that he wanted to be a doctor. His father had constantly told him that he was stupid, and that he would never amount to anything. If he ever told him he wanted to be a doctor…well, Shaun didn't know what he would do. He didn't want to. Glassman had accepted the desire without the tiniest of pauses. "You…think I could be?" he asked slowly.

"Of course I do," Glassman returned. "You can be anything you want to be, Shaun. The only person stopping you is yourself."

Shaun looked back at the rock in his hands. It was flat, and smooth. Hypothetically, it should skip, but he knew if he tried, it would just sink to the bottom. "I couldn't save Steve," he murmured, and he held the rock tighter, feeling it indent into his skin. "I wanted to. He couldn't grow up like he was supposed to. So…I want to help people grow up. I want to make sure everyone gets to live the life they're supposed to have." He uncurled his fingers and looked at the lines the rock left on his palm. "I want to save people's lives," he declared.

Glassman softened. His eyes turned gentle. "I'm sure you will, Shaun." Shaun smiled, and so did he. "I'm sure you could save a lot of people, if you wanted to be a doctor. And I'm willing to help you get there, if you're serious about it." It was time to start entertaining such ideas, anyway. He was already coming up on his last year of high school. Shaun traced over the edges of the rock, not commenting yet. Glassman looked at him closer. "It's not an easy job, by any means, Shaun," he warned. "It'll be difficult…there's a lot to know, and a lot to study. But beyond that…it's taxing, it's tiring, and even when you get through school, it's still difficult…you lose patients, you work long shifts, and sometimes you might even regret your choice to become one in the first place. I'm sure…" He hesitated and sighed. "I'm sure you'll have a harder time than I did, just because…people are ridiculous."

Shaun turned the rock over and over in his hands. "You don't sound like you like being a doctor…"

"I like it," Glassman hurried to reassure. "Of course I like being a doctor. It's the most fulfilling job I can think of. But it isn't easy at all, Shaun, and I didn't have anyone there to warn me about it whenever I was first thinking of going into medicine. So I just want to warn you…sometimes it's not a fairytale. I know that if you choose to be a doctor, you'll put in more than enough work to be able to become a fantastic one. But there are other things to it. Things you have to keep in mind, and know you'll just have to overcome." He nodded once, as if he was more than certain. "And I believe, if you want to, you could do it well. More than well. You would be perfect."

"How can I be perfect if it's impossible to save everyone?" Shaun asked.

Glassman looked down at him and smiled kindly. "Because you'll know, no matter what, that you will have tried your best, and did all you could," he said. Shaun blinked, and looked up at him, to meet his eyes. Glassman's expression was soft and proud, even though Shaun hadn't even done anything yet. "And as long as you do that, you'll be perfectly fine." He and Shaun held one another's gaze for what seemed like a long time. Before the older man cracked a more mischievous grin, and he bent down to scoop up a rock himself. "Right now, though, you need a bit of help in the field of rock-skipping, not medicine. You have to hold it like this." He extended his arm to show him how his fingers were gripping the farthest edges. "And you have to snap your wrist when you throw it; you can't just chuck it in."

Shaun watched with unimaginable focus as Glassman threw the rock out and it got exactly three skips before it sank. He looked down at his rock and mimicked Glassman's hold. He reared his arm backwards like Glassman had done, and he snapped it forward, flicking his wrist. A triumphant smile spread over his face immediately when he got two skips. He gave a tiny hop, and his arms flew up in the air. "It skipped!" he chirped. "It skipped! I did it!"

. . . .

Shaun untangled himself subtly from the girl's arms, his throat hotter than normal. "You're welcome," he mumbled. In the face of Elizabeth's relief and happiness, he found he couldn't stay. He couldn't stay and stomach the joy she was radiating that he hadn't been able to experience himself. That he would never be able to experience. He had done his job, and now it was over. He was the first of the three to excuse himself, and go back into the hallway. The farther he walked from the room, the easier it was to breathe and let it go. To focus on the fact that what had happened was a success, and nothing more. Not an insult, not a reminder, not anything else. They had a patient with COPD, they performed a lung transplant, and it had been successful.

That was all it was.

"Shaun!" He stopped and turned to see Claire rushing down the hallway after him. She was wearing a smile that was a little frayed around its edges. When she stopped, she let out a breath, her head tilting to the side in concern. She understood the issue— he could tell that without her saying it directly. Ever since this entire case had started, she'd been nicer, and she'd stood a little closer to him. She'd taken him out to dinner, she'd had breakfast with him, her and Jared had come over after work to loiter around his house. They had probably been worried he would fall apart like he had before. But he had coped well, and kept it to himself. Just like he was doing now.

All the same, she searched his face, a tiny frown tugging the edges of her lips down. "You okay?" she asked, hesitant. "I know it's not…I know it might be hard…if you want to talk about it, I'd be more than happy to listen."

He looked off to the side, and he shook his head once. "I'm alright," he said simply, because he was. "I don't need to talk about anything." He drafted a smile on his face, and Claire began to relax and brighten herself. "We saved a life today," he announced. "The transplant was a success, and Elizabeth will get to keep her father for many more years. So I'm happy." Claire still seemed dubious; her eyes still looked through his own with scrutiny. So, maybe to convince her, maybe to convince himself just a little bit more, Shaun repeated: "We saved a life today."

Slowly, she softened, and her smile became much more genuine. There was relief in the grin too, and a sense of peace probably everyone had been searching for for quite some time. Shaun was still looking for it, a little bit. Maybe some part of him would always be looking for it— that part would just get smaller and smaller and easier to overlook as time went by. He was okay with that. Because he knew he'd done all he could; everyone had. He had to move on, now. There was no time for bitterness and jealousy. All there was time for, was moving on to their next patient.

Thankfully, Claire shared his thought process. Once she melted, she leaned over and touched his arm affectionately. "Yeah," she replied. "Yeah, we did, didn't we?" Shaun nodded once, and he smiled back at her. She took her hand back and walked past him, throwing a grin over her shoulder as she kept going the way he had been. "What do you say we go save another?" she chirped.

Shaun didn't reply; he didn't need to. His grin said all he needed to, as he rushed after her down the hallway of Saint Bonaventure.


End file.
